


Love Is A Battlefield

by crumbcrash2000



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bisexual Tony Stark, Blackmail, Body Image, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Demisexual Steve Rogers, Drugged Sex, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hopeful Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Hatred, Sexual Coercion, Stalking, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumbcrash2000/pseuds/crumbcrash2000
Summary: In Siberia, Steve looks on in horror as Tony watches the video of his parents' murder. Expecting the worst, he is prepared to fight to defend Bucky, even through the shock of his own betrayal.But Tony doesn't lash out.Instead, Tony cries, and Steve's whole life falls apart.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Comments: 83
Kudos: 640
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for team NOVEMBER in the 2019 round of the Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang in association with the mighty march_hyde whose wonderful artworks can be witnessed here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607990
> 
> All the superlative, endless thanks to my beta reader, the absolutely incredible brokeneisenglas, who kicked this fic's ass in the best possible way! I am eternally grateful for your efforts and in awe of your skills!

21:34, 26th June 2016

The video played on, approaching its awful conclusion, yet Steve had no eyes left for anything save the shock etched in furrowed lines across Tony’s face. He watched, speechless, as Tony’s expression raced through denial, and reached trembling horror. Waited, breathless, for Tony’s next move, already hating himself for intercepting Tony’s half-hearted step towards Bucky; Tony’s name dropped from his lips like an apology, like a prayer.

Steve’s heart lurched, hopeless, when Tony flinched away from his touch, had to gather his nerve before swinging back to meet Steve’s gaze. His stricken brown eyes, for once unguarded, exposed Tony as Steve had never seen him before. No masks, no humor. No protection.

It was cruel, how good grief looked on him.

“Did you know?”

Of course, Tony would have already figured it out, would have seen instantly Steve’s cowardly part in this betrayal, but here he was, almost calm, giving Steve a chance to explain. Asking Steve for a way out of this.

Steve’s chest clenched tighter, a stabbing echo of his childhood asthma attacks, shame and fear the worst torment even as the air itself became his enemy. People often called Steve Rogers brave, always called him honest, but under the weight of Tony’s raw gaze, his resolve stumbled, and something weaker than the truth fell off his tongue.

“I didn’t know it was him-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” Tony hissed, dangerous yet fragile. He had stepped close enough for Steve to feel his breath on his face, close enough that there was no one else left in the world, but impossibly far away. “Did you _know_?”

Steve wanted to lie. He wanted to run. He wished he could be anywhere but here, could watch any heart break but this one. Yet Tony had held on to his control long enough to ask the question. He deserved for Steve to meet him halfway with the answer. Deserved the truth, whatever it cost.

“Yes.”

Tony flinched back, as if struck by a blow, and looked at Steve as he never had before; there was something worse than shock, clearer than disappointment in his eyes. As if Tony was only now seeing the truth of what he was. And everything he wasn’t. Tony shuddered and his gaze slid away, as if repelled by the very sight of him, and Steve’s heart crushed inward with the loss.

In his peripheral vision, Steve saw Bucky shift into a defensive stance, but despite the warning of his own instincts, Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to do the same. Whatever Tony was about to do, Steve surely deserved worse. He would protect Bucky from Tony’s wrath. But nothing more.

Yet Tony didn’t move to attack. Instead he bowed his head and began to make a strange choking noise, almost lost amid the soft whine of the suit’s repulsors. Steve stepped after him, instincts screaming, but stopped as Tony recoiled. As the other man continued backing away, the stifled sound strengthened and resolved into something recognizable and hideous and gasping.

Tony was _laughing_.

Steve didn’t know what to do. Automatically he glanced to Bucky for guidance, but his childhood friend looked as thrown as Steve felt, his eyes locked onto Tony as if hypnotized. As if searching for a danger he could recognize.

Listening to Tony’s laughter, Steve felt a danger too deep and awful to name. The other man was now listing to one side, hand reaching for the nearest wall, the suit’s mechanics whirring frantically as if trying to hold him together. Steve reached out, trembling with the need to help or fix or save, _anything_ \- “Tony? Are you-”

Yet at the first brush of Steve’s touch, Tony wrenched himself away, staggering as if wounded, still hacking out those choked, agonized sounds as he headed for the exit.

For half a breath, Steve’s feet refused to move. Then he was following Tony out of the room, was calling Tony’s name, was catching Tony’s arm to stop him stumbling into the walls, because that wasn’t laughing. Tony wasn’t laughing.

Tony was crying, so hard he couldn’t see.

Steve could see, and he _knew_ , in a hopelessly final way, that whatever was happening to Tony, he’d done this. He’d caused this. The guilt felt oceanic, pulling him under. He wrapped an arm around the other man’s shoulder, trying to hold Tony upright as if it would keep them both from drowning.

But his help wasn’t welcome anymore.

“Fuck _off_ , Rogers,” Tony gasped, shoving him away so hard that Steve sprawled out on his ass. The other man made it a few more steps alone, but by the time he reached the stairs he had to sit, collapsing with a graceless crash. Tony buried his face in his hands and cried, visibly shaking. Each sob wracked his whole body, the painful spasms visible even through his armor.

_Wrong_ , Steve thought, stunned. _This… It’s all wrong._

The worst part was that he knew Tony would rather launch himself into another wormhole than let anyone see him break down like this, but Steve couldn’t seem to stop _staring_. His mind kept replaying their reunion just a few minutes before, right here at these same stairs. Despite their bitter arguments, despite events in Germany, Tony had followed Steve all the way to Siberia. Steve’s heart had leapt at the very sight of him, then had been further cheered by his unexpectedly friendly chatter. He’d taken it as more evidence of the other man’s sunny resilience. A sign that maybe they were going to be okay.

The shattered man before him now… This was a side of Tony that Steve had never imagined. A loss of control that Steve would never have believed _possible_. And the guilt threatened to submerge him utterly, because Steve knew. He’d done this. He’d caused this.

Too miserable to wait, Steve moved to kneel beside the distraught man and reached for Tony’s shoulder, desperately searching his mind for a way to apologize. Again, Tony went to push him away, but this time there was no real strength in the gesture, making it one Steve could easily overcome if he tried.

Yet Steve froze, suddenly unsure whether his apology would even be welcome. “Tony, are you- I mean, is there anything-” he tried to begin, his own voice cracking in a way he hadn’t heard in years.

At the sound of his voice, Tony raised his head, glaring right through him as if daring him to comment. “What, Rogers, never seen a grown man cry?”

Somehow his anger felt like a gift. “What can I do?” Steve asked. Pleaded.

Tony’s answer was that awful bitter laugh again. “Uh, you know what, that’s a great question,” the other man said, his armored hand swiping clumsily at his face.

“That’s a really excellent question, Rogers. What _can_ you do?” he growled. “Can you figure out a way to go back thirty years and tell my parents not to get in that car? Better yet, can you go back seventy years and stop Barnes falling off that train? Yeah, didn’t think so. But you’re better at _not_ doing things than doing things, right? It’s kinda more your style. Not changing, not quitting. Not _listening_. Not bothering to tell me that my family was _murdered_ , that Hydra _stole_ them from me, and oh yeah, your BFF killed my _mom_ -’”

Tony broke off, panting for breath. He hugged his knees closer to his chest; a small, wounded gesture.

Steve couldn’t breathe at all.

“How long have you known?” Tony asked after a minute, still staring at his feet.

“Since D.C.,” Steve admitted.

Tony nodded once, sharp. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

_I can’t remember_ , Steve thought, his mind reeling, lungs burning. _I can’t._ “I should have, Tony, I’m sorry-”

“Just answer the goddamn question, Rogers,” Tony said, but there was no heat in it, only exhaustion.

Trapped somewhere behind enemy lines, Steve snatched a breath and charged forth blindly. “I was scared of what it would do to us.” He blinked, thrown by the odd phrasing. “To the team, I mean,” he rushed to clarify. “If I’d told you and you’d gone after him, we would have had to stop you. I couldn’t take the risk.” 

It was still a clumsy explanation, but Tony was looking at him again. “You were protecting Barnes.”

Steve seized the safer topic gratefully. “He’s my friend.” The words hung in the air between them; too late, Steve realized what he'd done.

There often came a single pivotal moment in a battle, an invisible tipping point where an inevitable chain of outcomes could be set in motion, the two sides pushed into adopting positions that would inexorably lead one to victory and one to defeat. Mostly this involved inspiring doubt in the other side, doubt that they could still win, doubt that there was any more reason to try. Quality of tactics and supplies would only go so far. Steve had always known that strength of purpose in the face of doubt could make the biggest difference.

The quickest way to lose was believing you had nothing left to win.

Before Steve's eyes, Tony’s face had drained of expression, slowly becoming something blank, remote. Unreachable. “So was I,” he said softly.

In his lifetime, Steve had lost family, friends, a whole damn world.

…he’d never felt like _this_ before.

“Tony,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tony muttered. He put his head in his hands as if rallying the energy to stand up. Preparing to leave.

“No, please, listen to me. I’m so sorry, Tony,” Steve said. But he could hear the defeat ringing through his own voice, doubt banishing hope itself, and in its wake came a deep and nameless terror.

“Enough, Steve,” the other man said, his voice almost gentle. “You get that we’re done here, right?” He was looking towards the exit. “You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve said, feeling faint, then stopped, confused. He had grabbed Tony by the shoulders. He hadn’t meant to grab Tony by the shoulders. At any rate, in the suit the other man shrugged him off easily and stood. Looking at him again. Glaring.

“I’m warning you, Rogers,” the other man said, a glimmer of threat back in his eyes. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Steve told him. Begged. The terror had leaked into his voice. It should have been humiliating, but his heart was pounding too hard for Steve to think. “I- I have to… Tony, I don’t know how to-”

A flicker of concern crossed Tony’s face, a momentary beacon of warmth beyond the blankness. Almost like Tony remembered being his friend. Almost like Tony cared.

It should have been reassuring, but somehow it only intensified Steve’s panic, his thoughts stubbing on the idea that Tony might still care, even after everything Steve had done. Because soon enough Tony wouldn’t care. Not anymore. After this, it would be too late.

The thought echoed through him, anguished and hollow and wrong; in him woke the sorrow so vast that he had never dared speak of it.

_Too late, too late, too late…_

_…again._

Steve stepped towards Tony, still desperately trying to find words to apologize, but instead of saying anything he was taking the other man in his arms and then Steve was kissing Tony and he was-

_What._ Steve’s thoughts slammed into a wall of his own confusion. _What-_

He couldn’t tell which of them was the more shocked. Even in Steve’s limited experience, the kiss felt clumsy; Tony’s mouth stayed hard and dry and unresponsive beneath his own.

But neither of them pulled away.

In fact, part of Steve was screaming to press even closer, but an instant surge of panic obliterated the very idea. _What am I doing, oh god, what the hell-_ Stricken with doubt, he released his grip on the other man, halfway mortified by his own actions, thoroughly mystified. Yet Tony still didn’t pull away, and Steve felt a flash of hope rush through him, his former terror cut with a new, dazzling heat. _Can I-? Could we-?_ Steve’s whole body thrilled as Tony’s lips finally softened against his own, hope and fear soaring ecstatically through him, into him. _I didn’t know,_ he thought giddily, _we could have had this, I didn’t know -_

But there were cold metal fingers digging into his chest, and then Tony was roughly shoving him away. Again, Steve fell on his ass; Tony loomed over him, his former blank reserve replaced by a boiling fury, his gloved hands instinctively raised.

“What the _fuck_ , Rogers?” he hissed, his repulsors flaring to full defensive readiness. “What the _actual fuck_?”

Even at his most useless, Steve couldn’t remember ever feeling this weak, this foolish. “Tony, I- I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I didn’t mean to-”

Tony flinched away, but not from his words. Steve had reached out. He hadn’t meant to reach out.

He let his hand fall.

From a safer distance, Tony was again staring at Steve as he never had before. This time, like he’d never seen anything as pathetic. Steve wished he could sink into the floor and disappear, but he waited for the other man to speak, to annihilate him with righteous contempt.

Instead, Tony turned and walked away, without a backward glance.

Somehow that hurt worse than annihilation ever could.

“Tony, wait, please, let me-” he called, scrambling to his feet to follow, but he stopped when Bucky’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Maybe you should give him a minute,” Bucky said carefully.

Steve was seized by a huge, hitching breath, and it was only then that he realized his own face felt wet. _Fuck_. He scrubbed the tears away, trying to avoid Bucky’s gaze but unable to ignore the sympathetic hand still on his shoulder. Of course. He must have seen… whatever the fuck that was. At least Steve compulsively humiliating himself in front of Bucky was nothing new. If anything, it was positively nostalgic.

Bucky must have been thinking along the same lines. “I dunno if it’s a comfort or a curse,” he said after a discreet pause, “but somehow you’re even worse with the fellas than you were with the dames. I mean, goddamn, Stevie.”

The amused affection in his voice was a familiar balm applied to a long-neglected ache; Steve hadn’t known it was possible to be homesick for a person. Despite everything else about this awful week, Bucky had been restored to him. He may have lost his job, his team, and damaged - _lost_ \- one of his most important friendships beyond any hope of repair, but he had managed to save his best friend’s life. He had to remember that.

Taking comfort in childhood rhythms, Steve smacked the other man lightly on the ribs. “Sympathy is free, you know.”

“So’s patience,” Bucky shot back. He looked towards where Tony had gone, his mouth drawn tight. “And he’s had a shit day even by our standards, so maybe give the guy a break.”

Steve turned to him, concern dawning at last. “Are _you_ okay?” he asked. The video had been hard enough for Tony to watch, but Bucky would always be Hydra’s first and worst victim.

His friend paused, then shrugged. “Compared to what?” At Steve’s frown, he shook his head. “I’m fine, Stevie. Really. It’s just that one of the perks of being on the run was that I didn’t have to spend my days thinking about all the lives I took. Wondering about the families they left behind.”

“Didn’t have to,” Steve echoed, studying the other man carefully. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t.”

“But I had the choice,” Bucky said. “It’s good, having the choice.”

And it was Steve’s turn to lay a comforting hand upon the other man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Buck. For the train. And everything since.”

Bucky flashed a wide, sleepy grin, still so familiar. “Bet I’m sorrier.”

Steve tried to smile back. “Well, I guess I won’t fight you on that one.”

His friend snorted and clapped him on the back. “Great, cos I’m kinda not in the mood to whoop your ass again.”

Then he moved off, heading for the same exit Tony had taken. Steve followed, trying to quell his sudden rush of worry. There was really no point in being nervous. Chances were Tony had already caught Zemo and was long gone, and it would be weeks or months before Steve saw him again.

_If I ever see him again._

To anyone watching, Steve’s slight stumble would have been attributed to the ice.

He hoped.

Yet as they emerged into the daylight’s snow-magnified glare, Steve spotted Tony confronting a shadowy figure standing inside the hold of a second, unfamiliar ship parked near the Quinjet. Immediately his instincts rocketed towards full alert, his body preparing for imminent danger.

“Buck,” he snapped, curt in the face of threat, but the other man was striding forward. Casually.

“Pretty sure that’s the cat guy again,” Bucky called over his shoulder. And on closer inspection he was right.

Nerves still jangling, Steve swallowed once, hard. He then raised his chin and followed Bucky towards the plane. As they approached the others, Steve spotted Zemo further into the Prince’s ship, safely restrained with some fancy-looking tech covering his mouth and ears. Steve struggled to maintain his usual professional calm as they reached T’Challa, the Prince nodding a serene greeting to them both.

Tony turned towards them but didn’t look at either of them directly, instead stabbing a thumb at T’Challa, his voice only slightly rougher than usual. “So Prince of Purrsia here is taking Zemo to answer for the bombings, meaning you’re officially off the hook, Barnes.”

“I would like to apologize for my former pursuit,” T’Challa said, taking a careful step towards Bucky. “I indulged in a need for revenge to escape my grief, and it almost cost an innocent life. I am truly sorry.”

“I’m far from innocent,” Bucky said, but he was looking at Tony, who was deliberately scrutinizing the inside of the Wakandan ship as if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Yes, Stark has been explaining your past captivity,” T’Challa said, and Bucky twitched once, as if surprised. Steve just felt numb. He should have known he could trust Tony to be fair. “This control Hydra still wields over you,” the prince was saying. “Would it be your wish to have it permanently revoked?”

Bucky blinked up at him. “Would it…? Yes,” he said faintly, then stronger. “Yes.”

T’Challa smiled slightly. “I believe my people can find a way to help free you of this control. Although you should know, Stark believes the same of his people.”

Fresh shame thrilled through Steve’s body as Bucky swung around to stare at Tony, open-mouthed.

“You… want to help me?” Bucky asked.

Dropping his show of disinterest, Tony eyed him flatly. “Not gonna lie, wouldn’t be my first choice. But you’re too dangerous to let loose, otherwise.” And if Tony’s gaze flickered in Steve’s direction before he stopped himself, it probably didn’t mean anything. A reflex. Coincidence. Besides, even if he could think of what to say, the shame was gathering thick in Steve’s throat, leaving him too choked up to speak.

“I can guarantee you would pose no danger in my country,” T’Challa said. “Hydra has no presence there.”

“That _you_ know of,” Tony muttered, but instead of arguing, T’Challa just smirked. “Look, Barnes,” Tony said, keeping his expression aggressively neutral, “Wakanda’s the better option if you’re looking to stay off the radar, but if you’d prefer to go home, I promise I’ll do what I can.” He grimaced, as if his own words tasted unpleasant. “But don’t mistake the offer for me giving a shit,” he continued. “This isn’t forgiveness, it’s the job. If you don’t have a preference, just flip a coin or whatever. Either way, it’s up to you.”

“Wakanda, then,” Bucky said, without missing a beat. “But thank you. For offering. It means a lot.”

“Great, I don’t care,” Tony said, already marching off towards the Quinjet. “Oh, and I’m taking my ship back,” he called over his shoulder.

Steve watched Tony go, his mind racing.

He knew he had a choice to make, but for some ridiculous reason he couldn’t quite grasp what his options were. His thoughts kept colliding, spinning off onto useless half-baked tangents. A random memory surfaced. His mother laughing, the year she’d brought him to the sea. He’d been so sick, but they’d both been so happy, that last summer before the reckoning. Before the coughing, and the distance, and the lies….

Steve pushed the memory back, tried to lock it down with all the rest. To remember was to grieve, and this was no time to feel sorry for himself. He had a choice to make.

But what were his _options_?

Steve stared after Tony, unaware of anything else, until Bucky gave him an impatient shove. “This is the part where you go after him, Stevie.”

“I… what?” Steve asked, his heart wrenched again with the feeling that was both hope and fear. _I want to,_ he realized, half-panicked at what that could mean. _I really… I want… But would he…?_

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky said. “Right now you’ve got bigger things than me to put back together.”

T’Challa had been watching them both, and now spoke. “You are welcome to visit Wakanda at any time, Captain Rogers. And of course, your friend may keep you notified of his progress. But for now, I believe he is correct, and your presence is required elsewhere.” There was sympathy in the prince’s eyes, but a faint trace of disapproval too.

_Oh god, did he see too?_ Steve wondered, swamped by a fresh angle of panic. _Does he know what I-?_ Yet he had no time to waste on speculation. If he didn’t act now, Tony would leave without him and probably never think about him again-

His heart lurched, and Steve realized he’d already made his choice.

“Bucky,” he started.

“Get the hell outta here,” the other man said, rolling his eyes. Even now, treating goodbyes like they were no big deal.

Steve seized his best friend in a quick embrace, promising himself he would visit Wakanda as soon as he possibly could. Then he nodded to T’Challa and was hurrying away through the snow before he could think twice.

The Quinjet’s ramp was still open, which he hoped was a message. He found Tony in the cockpit, finishing up the pre-flight checks and studiously ignoring his arrival. Steve stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Can I join you?” he asked eventually.

The other man kept his gaze averted. “Do what you want,” he said, but his voice felt like ice itself.

Chastened, Steve stowed his shield and took the co-pilot’s seat, and Tony sent the Quinjet soaring into the air.

Once only, Steve attempted to start a conversation. After Tony savagely shut that option down, Steve decided to be patient and follow Tony’s lead. Yet after engaging the autopilot, the other man just settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. Here but gone; both close enough to touch and impossibly far away. 

  
When Tony sat up, Steve held his breath in anticipation, but the other man was just switching on stealth mode. The light from outside dimmed appreciably, and Tony settled back down as if to sleep. Steve felt the distance between them deepen in the silence, his hopes becoming as gray and desolate as the withered skies outside. As the empty minutes passed, he found himself sinking into an incoherent despair.

And as usual, when Steve lost his focus, grief surged forward, spilling memories into the void of his misery.

This time, he thought of Peggy, her loss still so raw, still so unbelievable. Steve’s mind fastened onto their first meeting, how her fiery spirit had immediately captured his attention, then his imagination. How he’d longed to draw her. How he’d never dared ask. Not yet, he’d kept telling himself. Not now. After their dance. After the war.

_After, always after._

The previous autumn, at the care home, Steve had finally asked, and she’d agreed. In fact, she’d said she would always have agreed, then scolded him for waiting so long. Her nurse had scavenged an antique frame so Peggy could keep the drawing by her bedside. That had been a good day.

More often, there’d been bad days. Sometimes she couldn’t remember a Steve Rogers at all, blinking at him with kind indifference. He would cut those visits short, unable to bear the necessary pretense, and walk the long miles home, his mind ringing with silence. Those had been the worst days of all. He wondered how those days had felt for Peggy.

Lulled by the Quinjet’s steady hum, Steve stared out through the cockpit window but he saw nothing of the artificially dulled sky. Instead, he thought back to the last time he’d seen Peggy alive, nearly five months ago. Pneumonia, Sharon had said on the phone. She was away on a mission, or she’d go herself. Steve was unprepared for his discovery that regardless of the century, all hospitals smelled the same. The mingled traces of chemicals and distress hung in the air like a warning, unease coating his throat as he hurried along endless drab corridors.

He’d sat by Peggy’s bedside all night, listening to her rasping breath. At some point Steve had fallen asleep, and when he woke he’d lost his grip on where he was. When he was. For a minute, he was that angry kid again, ordering his mother to keep fighting even as her disease stole the very air from her lungs, helpless to do anything but watch her drown.

Yet by the morning Peggy had rallied, thanks to the casual miracles of modern medicine. He’d stayed with her, patient, until she woke. But she woke confused, screaming and crying at the sight of his face. She knew him, but she was too sick to understand how he was there, the stress driving her towards a likely relapse. Her nurse had ordered him to leave, so he’d fled. After, she’d gently told him not to visit again until Peggy was fully recovered and settled back at the care home. A small part of him had been glad.

Her doctors kept telling him her recovery was slow but proceeding well. They kept saying they’d let him know when she was strong enough for visitors.

For five months, he’d listened.

And now she was dead.

At the funeral, Steve had tried to imagine what he would have done if he had been there for her, right to the end. He tried to imagine how he would have said goodbye, but he just felt sick at all the words he still had left to say to her. All the questions he’d wanted to ask her, that now he never could. When they’d finally met again, here in this strange future, Peggy had been far more a stranger than she’d been the person he’d once hoped to marry. After that reality had sunk in, he’d enjoyed getting to know her, but the sad truth was that the woman who’d loved him had long since gone somewhere he couldn’t reach. Steve would have been of no more use to Peggy in presence than he had been in his long years of absence. She wouldn’t have missed him.

No, it was the finality that hurt the most. The fact that their paths, so long intertwined, had finally, hopelessly, diverged.

They had reached the end of the line.

Steve _hated_ being the one left behind.

Somehow, Peggy had survived decades of his loss with her dignity intact. She had mourned him, yes. Deeply and sincerely, she’d said. But then she’d left him behind too, had moved on and built a full and happy life for herself, somehow finding the strength to keep her memories close without succumbing to their burden of grief.

Steve didn’t know how to do, well, _any_ of that. One month after Bucky’s fall, he’d crashed a plane into the sea, claiming necessity. And now here he was crashing again, mere days after losing Peggy. He’d walked away from his team, his friends, his _life_. Forsaking everything familiar and safe in this endless shifting future.

Back before the Army, he’d spent endless dark days watching others go off to war, trying and failing to find ways to be useful, to _help_. Every day had ended the same, with Steve bored and unsatisfied, trudging back to the empty apartment his mother had worked so hard to keep. A small angry part of him still wishing it would burn to the ground. Becoming Captain America hadn’t been just a job or a privilege. It had been a fairytale.

Then he’d abandoned it.

Necessity, again.

Each problem had seemed so _simple_. The Accords would take away his ability to help people, so Steve had left the team. Then he needed to protect Bucky, so he’d gone on the run. To get to Siberia in time, he’d had to fight. Taken altogether, everything was a mess, but step by step, it still felt like he’d done the right thing. Even kissing Sharon had felt necessary, in an awkward farewell-and-thank-you sort of way.

But kissing Tony… Steve glanced over at the other man.

It was the one act he couldn’t explain. That almost felt fake, like it had happened to someone else. Steve had been desperate before, had made stupid impulsive decisions before. But the kiss… It just didn’t make _sense_. He’d never thought of Tony like that, or any man. Admittedly, he’d rarely thought of women like that either before he’d met Peggy, but he’d been friends with Tony for _years_. Steve had yelled at him, laughed with him, had fought alongside him and occasionally against him, but he’d definitely never wanted to _kiss_ him.

… right up until he’d kissed him.

Impossible as it should have been, Steve was getting a headache. He just wished he could talk to Peggy. Ask her about Tony. About what a kiss like that could mean. She was brave. She liked answers. Not like Steve, always getting stuck on the questions.

Really, it was almost irrelevant, he chided himself. He wasn’t here about the kiss. Steve was here to make amends, and that began with accepting that Tony had good reason to be angry. To be hurt. The kiss, however nonsensical, could turn out to be the least of Steve’s mistakes.

He sighed. It would be so much easier if Tony would just yell at him. At least then Steve would know what he was thinking. Right now, Tony was just a few feet away, eyes firmly closed, yet in the endless silence, he’d never felt more distant. Almost alien. Like Bucky on the bridge, no recognition in his eyes. Like Peggy. Here, but gone.

Steve knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help staring. Earlier, Tony had been utterly distraught, yet now he looked so peaceful. Steve wanted to memorize the exact way Tony’s eyelashes curled against his cheek. The curved lines of exhaustion pulling at his mouth. He longed to draw every detail. Keep him forever.

_Peggy, how can you tell you’ve lost someone if they’re still right in front of you?_

As if disturbed by Steve’s gaze, Tony finally stirred, stifling a suspiciously authentic yawn. They’d been flying in total silence for over an hour. Perhaps he really had been asleep. The other man stretched, catlike despite the suit, then leaned over and switched off stealth mode.

The restored light throughout the cockpit was bright enough to make Steve’s eyes water, the front view revealing only swathes of anonymous green against the deep blue of sea and sky. Steve noted the subtropical look of the vegetation, but apart from that, they could be anywhere. With a few deft gestures, Tony disabled the autopilot and spun the jet to land on a well-concealed beach. The other man unbuckled his harness and stomped out of the cockpit without a word, operating the armor with far less than his usual grace.

Feeling unreasonably depleted by the short flight, Steve was slow to follow. He emerged into significant heat, blinking against an oppressive noon sun. Wherever they were, it was beautiful. Pristine golden sand stretched to meet a sea of such dazzling blue it made the sky look cheap, and Tony was heading towards a small but impressive house nestled amid a stand of trees. Steve could see no other signs of life along the shore. Tony began stripping off his armor as he walked, Steve noting the other man’s slight limp.

By the time Steve reached the house, Tony was nowhere to be seen, yet the building’s open, airy design drew Steve onward into the main living area. He found himself standing by a curved glass wall, lost in the rhythm of the marbled waves, watching them idly crash and recede. Eventually, he felt rather than heard Tony’s return; pulse quickening, Steve swung round to face him.

The other man had removed the rest of his armor, and the bruises revealed on his face and arms were already turning a wicked purple. Before Steve could gather the nerve to say anything, Tony had crossed to the kitchen area and opened the door to a concealed freezer, retrieving a set of ice packs with a horrible air of routine. Steve stood still and watched, knowing there was nothing to do or say that would help. Every time he thought of another way to apologize, he could already hear in his head exactly how Tony would shut him down, would twist the knife or, worse, just shrug at him, unmoved. So he waited, ready.

Patience, Bucky had advised. That never had been Steve’s best attribute. But he’d learn. If it helped earn Tony’s forgiveness, he would learn.

Tony slammed the freezer closed. “Alright,” he said, and turned to Steve at last.

Steve took a step forward, then made himself stop. “Where are we?”

“Private island,” Tony said. He gestured vaguely at the freezer. “Food, if you’re hungry,” he stated. “TV works, if you’re bored.” He could have been reciting the dictionary, for all the life in his voice.

“What about you?” Steve asked eagerly. Too eager, he could hear it.

Clearly Tony could too. “I have some phone calls to make,” the other man said, eyes colder than any ice. And with that, he disappeared up a distant flight of stairs.

And for the first time since he blew up his life and went on the run, Steve was totally alone. It should have been nice, he knew. Peaceful.

Yet as the minutes slipped by and Tony stayed gone, a restless unease rose within him, wearing away at his equilibrium. The serum hunger soon drove him towards the kitchen, where he spent a busy hour raiding the freezer and cooking the best meal he could assemble. Yet despite his enhanced appetite, he struggled to clear his plate, and had to force himself to swallow. Cleaning the kitchen and checking over his gear ate up another hour or so, but eventually he ran out of distractions. He found himself back by the window, staring without seeing as the ocean waves rose and fell.

In the absence of necessity, he finally had the time to stop and think.

He hated it.

_Peggy, how do you know when it’s the last time you’ll ever speak to someone?_

Contrary to popular mythology, Steve often struggled with doubt. Not on the battlefield, of course. But uncertainty plagued him everywhere else, even if he knew better than to admit it out loud. Since he could remember, he’d had the horrible feeling he was missing something vital, something important. It seemed everyone else could just step out their door in the morning and blend right into the great wide world, but not him. If life was a dance, he’d never learned the steps. Even Peggy’s interest in him had felt slightly impossible, somehow unreal, right up until their first, and last, kiss.

Waking up in the future had only compounded the problem. There was just so much Steve didn’t know, always more angles he hadn’t considered. In those first lonely months, he couldn’t seem to function beyond the most basic level. Everywhere he turned, he found endless options to consider, endless information to assess, just too much _everything_ , at all times and everywhere. He wanted to find something useful to do, but he didn’t even know where to begin. People at SHIELD had offered to help, but they all looked at Steve with so much awe that he felt like even more of a fraud.

The attack on New York had come as a weird relief. After all, punching was punching. And the Avengers Initiative had given Steve something manageable to focus on. Fighting was both familiar and a way to be useful again. At least on the battlefield, he could be sure and strong. For everything else… Well, if he missed something, these days there was usually someone around to set him straight.

Tony had helped with that, more than most. Maybe more than Steve would ever know. Trying to keep up with his teasing had at first sent Steve into interesting places that often led to useful insight. Steve had assumed this was by coincidence until he’d noticed how closely Tony would watch for Steve’s reaction, his words carefully shaped to provoke but not harm. In the following months of observation, Steve had begun to appreciate the subtleties of the other man’s attention. Tony approached their friendship like he did all of his designs, all off-handed dazzle on the surface but with a steady brilliance underneath. And he never looked at Steve with awe unless Steve actually did something to deserve it.

With Tony at his side, the modern world felt welcoming in a way he’d never expected. Really, Steve had grown to rely on him so much, losing his guidance would-

_That’s it._ His eyes widened in shock, and he collapsed onto a nearby couch. _That’s why._ He needed Tony to do his _job_. He’d only kissed Tony because… Steve frowned, mind racing. Because… Tony had just told him they were done, and… it felt like Steve was losing him forever. Like how he’d just lost Peggy, for the second, final time. But the first time, he’d kissed her to say goodbye, so… Somehow, he got his wires crossed.

That _had_ to be it. He’d been scared, and confused, and got caught up in an old memory. Steve could explain everything now. And if he could explain, Tony might understand.

Steve exhaled, feeling as though he’d been holding his breath for centuries. He slumped back into the couch, relief spreading release throughout his body, tilting his head towards the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Freed from the churn of his own thoughts, he could now hear the intermittent soft murmurs of Tony’s voice from some other room, too distant to make out the words but close enough to be a comfort. Buoyant with released tension, Steve tried to imagine how this week would have differed if Tony had been the one in danger. If it had been Tony needing Steve to risk everything and go on the run. He would have, Steve knew. He should explain that too. It wouldn’t have differed at all. Steve would have fought the world to protect Tony, just as he had for Bucky. And he had no doubt Tony would have done the same for him.

In a way, the other man already had.

After the airport fight, Steve had been worried that he may have strained their friendship beyond reason. When Tony had showed up in Siberia, for Steve’s sake breaking the very rules he’d been arguing for… It had felt good in a way Steve hadn’t expected. Significant in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. With both Tony and Bucky by his side, Steve had felt ready to take on the world-

But Steve tensed, his good cheer evaporating, because instead, he had led them both straight into Zemo’s trap.

Steve could almost admire the brutal ambition of the Sokovian soldier’s scheme. Psychological warfare had never really interested him, the long-armed delicacy required seeming too fickle for the coarse churn of the battlefield, too dependent on luck and circumstance. Yet in his quest to dismantle the Avengers, Zemo had been able to identify Steve as the team’s weakest link and ruthlessly exploit his flaws, all from a comfortable distance.

God, Steve had so much to apologize for. Despite his resolve to be patient, Steve had the sudden impulse to stampede into the other room and demand to know what Tony was thinking. He could only imagine what the other man must be feeling. The video of his parents would have been devastating to witness, both as a son and as evidence of Steve’s betrayal. Despite their friendship, Steve had expected the worst of Tony, had kept quiet for fear of Tony’s vengeance if he ever discovered the truth. Yet even under the worst possible circumstances, Tony hadn’t lashed out. He had recoiled instead, escape his first anguished instinct. Too late, Steve had seen the danger in his inaction, had understood the awful cost of his silence.

Tony had fled, not from Bucky or the tape, but from _Steve_.

He wondered now if that was the victory Zemo had envisioned. The trap was so clear, in hindsight. Almost beautiful in its way. And at every step, Steve had played his part of the perfect clockwork soldier, marching bravely and correctly, straight off a goddamn cliff. Without his immediate rejection of the Accords, he would have still been an Avenger after the bombing. He could have taken Bucky into protective custody with people he trusted, kept him far beyond Zemo’s reach. And without Steve’s lack of faith, Tony would have already known about his parents and not been blindsided by the video once they got to Siberia.

Without Steve’s failures, Zemo’s elaborate plan would have fizzled out into nothing.

_How_ had this stranger seen him so clearly?

Where exactly had Steve gone wrong? 

Steve’s impossible headache had returned and he scrubbed at his face with both hands, irritated at his own self-pity. He had to stop obsessing over the past and start thinking through his current situation while he had the time. _Enough, soldier._

He sat up straight and tried to focus, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the couch. _Okay_. Technically, after Germany, he was a war criminal. There was a larger than zero possibility that Tony was on the phone right now organizing Steve’s delivery to the Raft. Yet if that was the case, Steve would comply. His concerns about the Accords notwithstanding, he needed to show he was serious about making amends. If the cost of keeping the Avengers intact was his own incarceration, then so be it. From now on, he’d do whatever it took to keep the team together, even if that meant leaving his fate in Tony’s hands.

Steve would be patient. He would listen, and he would comply.

This time, he would prove Zemo wrong.

If Tony would just give him the chance…

Outside, the fading light signaled night’s approach. Inside, Steve stayed motionless, his mind lost in relentless wheels of misery. As the sun set over the water he did turn his head, but he was too sunken to appreciate the spectacle.

When the sun was fully gone, he sat and watched the dark.

Much, much later, Steve heard a soft tread on the stairs. A numb sort of exhaustion swept over him, but he shot to his feet anyway, squinting against the sudden glare of lights around him. _Motion-activated,_ he realized with a vague twist of embarrassment.

Across the room, Tony had stopped on the last step, staring. Probably seeing what Zemo had seen. The weaknesses. The failures.

Steve walked to him, ready to withstand the scrutiny. Yet Tony turned his gaze to the kitchen instead, lingering on the dishes Steve had carefully washed and replaced.

“Food all right?” he asked, his civility remote and impenetrable. Businesslike.

“Great, thanks,” Steve answered. “Although I wasn’t really hungry.” Which was true. And not. The serum pangs were always there. Unseen. Not really his.

Tony eyed him, then shrugged, still horribly polite. “Any leftovers?”

Steve blinked, then waved towards the refrigerator.

“Thank god, I’m starving,” the other man said, then turned his back on Steve and began foraging, chattering as he did. “So T’Challa handed over Zemo to Ross, but he’s headed back to Wakanda with Barnes now.” He slammed the door of the microwave a little harder than necessary. “He took Rhodey with him, if you even care.”

Steve had no idea what he was talking about. “If I care…?” He sucked in a breath, suddenly sick with dread. “What happened to Rhodey?”

Tony froze in place, shoulders rigid; he slowly swung round to face him. “The airport,” he said coolly, his expression unreadable. “Suit got taken out. He fell.”

_He… Oh god…_ Steve felt the ground lurch under him and he staggered back, grabbing at the countertop behind him for support. “How is he?”

“Broken,” Tony said, still ice cold, yet his stance had softened. “For now, anyway. T’Challa says they can help.” He paused, ducked his head. “I thought you knew.”

Steve found himself deeply irritated by the assumption. Rhodey had been on the team for years now, and although they were never close, Steve considered him a friend. Sure, they’d clashed over the Accords, but Steve wasn’t a monster. Tony should have realized he would have asked about Rhodey’s injuries if he’d known.

But this wasn’t the time to pick a fight, so Steve just shook his head and said nothing.

Tony gave him a odd look, but right then the microwave pinged, recapturing the other man’s attention. “In other news, Zemo officially confessed to the bombing, so I - ouch, _goddammit_ \- have our legal team working on swinging a pardon for Barnes outta that.” He slung his overheated plate onto the table and sat, gesturing for Steve to take the opposite chair. “T’Challa also corroborated the Siberia threat, so your merry band of renegades have been released from the Raft and are on their way home, now that Wanda’s visa has finally come through.”

Steve had sat on a couch moping all day. “You’ve been busy,” he said weakly.

Tony frowned down at his plate. “Someone had to fix your mess.”

“It didn’t have to be you,” Steve said.

Yet somehow his acknowledgment made Tony angry. “Well, you’re welcome to fly someone else in and save your ass, Rogers. Should I maybe give Ross a call? He’s still demanding your immediate surrender-”

“I’ll do it,” Steve said at once. “I’ll surrender. If that would help.”

Tony threw him a disgusted look. “Man with a fucking plan. God, Rogers, take a fucking seat. There’s no way Ross is gonna be seen locking up _Captain America_ for trying to save the world from a nest of Russian Nazi super-soldiers. Short odds are he’ll call back in the morning with a plea deal.”

It made sense, as far as Steve could tell. “Okay,” he said. “And then what?”

“We go back,” Tony said, a dangerous light in his eyes daring Steve to disagree. To deny him. “And you sign.”

Steve’s mistrust of the Accords rose up within him, deep as ever, but this time his resistance crumbled under the weight of Tony’s gaze. Defeated, he nodded, and Tony’s eyes widened slightly.

“Say it,” the other man ordered.

Steve licked his lips. “If that’s what you… If that’s what I have to do. I’ll sign.”

Yet the harsh line of Tony’s mouth only tightened, and Steve realized the other man had expected more of a fight. Tony stabbed his fork at his uneaten food, his face still eerily blank.

Unease twisted low in Steve’s stomach, the silence curdling between them.

“Why now?” Tony asked eventually.

Steve couldn’t pick an answer, didn’t understand the question. “What?”

Tony leaned forward. “Why sign _now_?” For the first time, his mask of icy civility slipped. “You refused before. Twice. You wouldn’t listen to Nat, or Vision, or anyone. Instead it was all about _your_ feelings and _your_ fears and _your_ opinions, screw the rest of the world. So what the hell changed, Rogers?”

Steve raised his chin. This question, he could answer. “Tony. I’m willing to admit I’ve made some mistakes lately. Bad ones. Even though I really thought I was doing the right thing, but I guess I was wrong. I just couldn’t see it on my own. So I think you’re right. The team needs oversight. Accountability. And so do I. Without the team, I don’t know how I would… I don’t think I would be able to…”

He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I do still think there’s a serious risk that the Accords will interfere with our work. We have to be able to go where we’re needed. But I can see now why it might be better to stay on the team, regardless. And if I can do the most good as an Avenger, then that’s where I need to be.”

The other man leaned back in his chair. “Wow,” he drawled, voice dripping with derision. Steve’s stomach lurched. “How very _noble_ of you, _Captain_. You ever consider that maybe the team won’t take you back?”

Steve could only blink, because he hadn’t, in fact, thought of that. At all. It seemed a ludicrous possibility.

Tony laughed, bitter and hard. “You really thought you could just stroll back in after you were the one to walk away? Captain America, boldly going wherever the fuck you wanna go. Christ, you’re like a bad joke.”

Steve tried not to glare. The other man was often rude, but rarely this hurtful. Yet it had been a rough day for him, Tony was entitled to feel upset. “Okay, you may have a point, but I’ll deal with the team later. Right now, I want to talk to you, Tony.”

“Oh, you want to _talk_ ,” Tony mocked him, the dangerous glint back in his eyes. “Okay, Rogers, then talk.” He pushed his plate away despite having eaten nothing. “Let’s start with how you knew Hydra murdered my parents and you didn’t tell me.”

_Okay_ , Steve thought. _Okay_. He could definitely answer for this. “Tony, it just… At first it just seemed too horrible to be true. I thought Zola was lying to mess with me. Then Nat gave me Bucky’s file, and I saw how Hydra had used him… It seemed to fit, but Tony, without proof, I just couldn’t be sure. And maybe I didn’t want to believe it, but I also didn’t want to hurt you by bringing up the past without good reason. You know you hate it whenever I bring up Howard-”

He broke off at the ugly flare of rage on Tony’s face.

But instead of yelling, Tony carefully folded his arms, schooling his expression back to that flat, anonymous calm. “So really, it’s my fault,” he said, his voice tight and eerily quiet.

“Of course not,” Steve said, aghast. Everything was coming out all wrong. “No, Tony, that’s not what I- I thought if I could find Bucky first, I could find out the truth. Of course I would have told you once I knew for sure. I just didn’t want to tell you something so awful without confirming it first.” He clenched his teeth in frustration. His reasons had felt so solid at the time, but now, hearing them out loud, they sounded… weak. He mustn’t be explaining them right.

“They told me he was drunk.” The other man’s voice sounded dead. “That the crash was his fault.” He tilted his head. “I believed it.”

Steve swallowed, his mouth dry. He hadn’t thought… “I’m sorry. That must have been… I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you,” the other man said, his gaze alien and cold and wrong. “You don’t ever say his name to me again.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “I won’t, I- Whatever you need, Tony. Tell me, please. You have to understand, I want to make this right.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“What?” Steve’s mind was spinning off in tangents again, his focus becoming slippery, erratic. For a moment, it wasn’t Tony, there across the table. Just a stranger wearing his face.

“Why do I _have to_ understand?” Tony bit out, as if irritated by his confusion. “What should I tell you? What makes you think I need _anything_ from you, Rogers?”

Steve struggled to breathe, grasping towards some sort of reply, an argument, an appeal. Anything to make Tony give him another chance, just one more chance. But no answer came. “I guess…” he started, then gave up. “I guess you don’t.”

“Damn right,” he heard Tony agree.

But Steve couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see this stranger wearing Tony’s face. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, trying not to collapse fully onto the table, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Worse than the despair was the shock, as if until now, Steve had somehow believed this situation could end happily. He should have known better. Once, with the serum, Steve had been granted everything he’d ever wanted. But like a fairytale boy who’d used up all his wishes, it meant he could never be lucky again.

Steve felt the hot humiliating sting of tears but clenched his jaw against their release, desperately ordering himself to hold it together, at least until he was alone.

Somehow it was fitting, that today he would fail at this too.

“Okay,” he murmured, knuckling at his eyes. “Okay. I hear you, Tony. You don’t owe me anything, I’m sorry.” He knew the other man could probably tell he was crying, but Steve was too wrung out to care anymore. “I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and that’s on me.” He swallowed. “You’re right, I should have told you. You deserved to hear the truth. Not just as H- as your father’s son. But as my friend.”

He sniffed, wiping at his cheeks, and sat up straight, forcing himself to meet Tony’s silent gaze.

“But I want you to know I’ll always be your friend, Tony,” Steve told him. “Even if you’re no longer mine.”

Across the table, dark eyes watched him, intent and unfathomable.

Then Tony spoke. “You are _such_ a fucking asshole, you know that, Rogers?”

Yet even as fresh despair drained the life from Steve’s limbs, Tony stood and made his way around the table with cool, deliberate steps. Steve sat still, helpless, as the other man stopped beside his chair. “And we are _definitely_ not friends anymore.”

But then sure fingers were brushing against Steve’s cheek; Tony, gently wiping away his tears. Turning Steve’s face up to meet his dark, inscrutable gaze.

Steve’s mind hushed to silence at his touch. Wordless, he stared up at the other man, unable to move until Tony brushed a thumb over his lips; Steve gasped, his breath hitching as if in pain.

At the sound, the other man stopped still.

And then Tony leaned down and kissed him, soft and sweet.

_Oh,_ Steve thought.

_This is-_

_I’m-_

It was like he was _shimmering_ , his whole body and mind ringing loud with new, limitless possibility. Taken with amazement, he didn’t realize his own lack of response until Tony drew back, hovering as if uncertain.

Suddenly desperate, _deprived_ , Steve reached out and pulled the other man onto his lap, shoving the heavy table carelessly away to make space. Tony gave a tiny yelp of surprise but instantly relaxed into Steve’s arms, seeking his mouth again. This time, though, Steve was ready, and-

_Oh… fuck_ , he thought.

It was all he had time to think, because Tony’s mouth was heated gold against his own, Steve falling endlessly into him; Tony’s fingers raked ungentle lines along Steve’s jaw, through Steve’s hair. In glorious desperation, Steve opened his lips, snaked his tongue into Tony’s mouth, needing more, demanding _more_ ; Tony gave a soft whimper, yielded, and Steve felt stars dazzle behind his eyes, soaring throughout his soul.

They broke apart only for breath, neither of them shy, yet neither speaking; this close, there was no need for words. No, they weren’t friends anymore. They were on the far side now, each reaching for the other in mutual desperation. Steve found himself ripping at Tony’s shirt, his fingers seeking the smooth skin of Tony’s sides, his muscled back. At Steve’s touch, Tony groaned and wriggled further into his lap, and Steve hissed at the feel of him, grinding against his cock. God, he was fully hard already.

And apparently Tony could tell, because he leaned away then, cheeks flushed as if drunk. “Well _hello_ , Captain,” he breathed, eyes dancing. It was just so ridiculous, so endearingly _Tony_ , that Steve fell into the most undignified giggles. He should be freaking out, he knew, but somehow, with Tony in his arms, he felt both rock steady and infinitely delirious. For a second Tony just watched him laugh, grinning slightly, then thoroughly put an end to his distraction by claiming Steve’s mouth again. Then, with a magician’s ease, he slipped a deft hand into Steve’s pants and-

_…ah,_ Steve thought.

_This is actually-_

_Tony, I-_

Steve wasn’t totally inexperienced; he knew enough to get himself off with minimum fuss, had even sat through a few awkward hand-jobs back in his USO days.

Nothing, _nothing_ , in Steve’s life had prepared him for the revelation of Tony’s hand on his cock. He groaned helplessly, the pleasure spinning towards unbearable. Tony kissed his cheek, then leaned back, watching his face. Steve could only stare up at him, panting slightly as Tony’s fingers trailed his length, root to tip; he sobbed a curse, launched beyond all dignity, as Tony’s thumb brushed over the head. Tony made a pleased humming sound, then leaned in to suck hard at Steve’s neck, one hand tangled in his hair, the other working his cock in quick, inexorable rhythm.

The mingled pleasure and pain drove Steve’s mind further into ecstatic incoherence; _Tony_ , he thought, no other words making sense. No other word needed.

He came fast with a stuttering cry, his orgasm both joyous and shattering, Tony the only thing holding him together. After, Steve buried his face into Tony’s neck and gripped him tight, his body still trembling violently. As he waited for the dizziness to fade, for the world to settle back around him, he felt Tony trace the contours of his face, his fingertips gliding softly over Steve’s closed eyes.

“Damn, Cap,” the other man said, voice slightly shaky. “You come that hard for all the girls?”

“Not even close,” Steve murmured. It was only the truth. And kinda for the best, or he thought he’d do nothing else all day.

Tony paused. “Huh. I was thinking it was a serum thing.”

“Pretty sure it’s just a you thing,” Steve corrected him sleepily, then panicked. Maybe that was too much truth.

“…oh yeah?” His voice sounded thick with an emotion Steve couldn’t identify, but when he looked up, Tony was smiling. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to get in my pants?” the other man teased, and Steve’s heart soared with awe at how even now, in this strange new arena of intimacy, Tony could stay so irrepressibly _Tony_.

Maybe here, tucked away from necessity, Steve could just be… Steve.

And so he took a deep breath and teased right back. “Oh, something tells me you already want me in your pants,” Steve said, dropping his voice low and directing a pointed gaze to the bulge visible at Tony’s groin. Unexpectedly, Tony blushed.

“Can’t blame a guy for having dreams,” he said, tossing his head airily, then he yelped as Steve stood, lifting the other man easily in his arms.

“We’re going to need a bed,” Steve announced, and waited.

Tony surged towards him, kissing him hard and desperate. “Upstairs,” he breathed against Steve’s mouth.

Steve had no physical trouble carrying the smaller man, but he admitted it may have been a tactical mistake when Tony’s tongue made him stumble twice before even reaching the stairs. Halfway up, Steve had to drop him thanks to a particularly effective use of teeth. By the time they reached the bedroom, Steve had lost his shirt and both socks, while Tony had been stripped down to only an undershirt and, to Steve’s glee, neon purple Hulk boxers.

Yet at the sight of the bed, Steve froze, suddenly flooded with nerves. “I… Tony?”

Tony hummed vaguely, too intent on his battle with Steve’s pants to listen.

Steve grabbed his hands still. “I’ve never done this before,” he blurted out.

“What?” For a second the other man looked thrown, then his expression cleared. “Oh. Slept with a man?”

He could feel his cheeks heat up, but Steve shook his head. “Not anyone.”

“Uh.” Tony blinked, then frowned. “Wait. _Seriously_?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, and waited.

Tony stepped back, brown eyes wide. “No, don’t be sorry, I mean…” He exhaled, pulled a face, then pointed to the bed. “Okay, time out. You, sit.”

Steve sat. Tony joined him on the bed but kept a careful distance between them.

“So, this has been delightful,” the other man said, serious but gentle. “But I don’t want to rush into anything that you might regret later. So you gotta tell me what you want here, Steve.” There was more than a hint of command in his voice, but his eyes were kind. _Patient._ He was better at it than Steve.

“I want…” Steve trailed off, trying to consider his answer honestly. Tony waited, just out of reach. “I want to be with you.”

Tony gave him the soft, crooked smile that was his second favorite Tony expression. “There are many ways to be with someone, Steve, I kinda need you to be specific. What exactly do you want here?”

“What if I don’t know?” Steve was sure he’d never sounded so stupid in his entire life, but Tony was smiling up at him, no trace of his earlier cold disdain in his eyes, and Steve was too entranced to look away.

“It’s not rocket science, Cap,” the other man said lightly. “Although if it was, you’d be in luck, cos I’m excellent at that too.” He paused, then asked. “Do you want to touch me?”

Steve felt a stab of need so strong his whole groin ached. “Yes,” he answered, voice rough.

Looking down, Tony took Steve’s hand in his, the callused rasp of Tony’s skin against his own sending chills racing over Steve’s entire body. “Do you want to kiss me?” Tony murmured.

“Yes,” Steve said, breathless.

Tony leaned forward, Steve bowing his head to meet him. Their lips brushed, feather-light.

The other man drew back, then paused, intense. Focused. “Steven Grant Rogers,” he said huskily, and it was all Steve could do not to moan out loud. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Unable to resist, Steve seized Tony’s mouth in an eager, clumsy kiss. “God, yeah,” he muttered when they broke for breath. “And, and vice-versa, Tony. Everything.”

“Oh thank god,” Tony blurted out, his starburst smile crinkling all the way to his eyes before he pulled Steve into another kiss.

With renewed enthusiasm, they made short work of shedding their clothes. Steve found to his horror that Tony’s whole body was overlaid with mottled bruising, proof the past week had not been just a bad dream; he pressed his lips to every bitter mark he could find, heart aching in silent apology.

They tumbled into the bed, soft silk against soft skin. As ever, Tony took over whenever Steve’s confidence faltered, reassuring him with kisses wherever his light-hearted words failed to reach. The other man patiently led Steve through the contours of his own body, exploring exactly how and where he liked to be touched. After Steve’s second flailing orgasm nearly made him pass out again, he awkwardly asked if he could learn by focusing on Tony’s body instead. The other man broke into slightly hysterical giggles before formally granting his request.

As it turned out, the route to pleasure lay along many of the same landmarks as pain, and Steve was nothing if not a quick study. As the night wore on, he couldn’t decide which part he liked more, his new-found ability to reduce Tony to a babbling mess, or the tender aftermath where Tony would lie spent in his arms, the perpetual chatterbox finally satiated into silence. Again, Steve marveled at how comfortable, how _right_ it felt to hold Tony this close, as if they had always been designed to fit this way. Somehow with Tony’s cock in his mouth Steve felt more fully himself than he had on any battlefield, his mouth drawing forth merciless ecstasy, Tony twisting under his fingertips into some beautiful wild thing.

As the dawn light crept in, lifting them out of anonymous shadow, Steve finally made love to the other man. Once more, neither spoke a word. In the silence, their union felt solemn. Holy, almost. Steve truly tried to savor it, tried to slow down and memorize every new expression etched on Tony’s face, but the more he reveled in the moment, the quicker his pleasure surged. An inevitable momentum took him over, sending first Tony then himself plunging over the edge into a bliss that obliterated all that came before.

When Steve regained consciousness, he was crying, too lost in rapture to fear humiliation anymore.

“Fuck,” he heard Tony murmur, then strong arms were wrapping around his shuddering shoulders. Steve sank into the comfort of Tony’s embrace, still gasping for breath. “Easy, Steve, easy,” Tony kept saying. Soothing him.

Steve didn’t know how to explain his tears. He just knew that he was okay, that he was indescribably better than okay, that for the first time in years it felt like he’d found somewhere he belonged, and so he just closed his eyes and let himself be held. As the morning light seeped in around them, he heard Tony’s breath soften and slow towards sleep; heart shyly buoyant, Steve let his own exhaustion pull him under, smiling as he went.

_Peggy, everything’s okay…_

***

11:34, 27th June 2016

He must have slept deeply but not for long, for it was not yet noon when he next opened his eyes. Steve found himself on his side with both arms fastened around Tony’s waist, gentle fingers idly twining through his hair. The other man was staring at the ceiling, wide awake,.

“Hmngh,” Steve managed.

Tony didn’t move. “Good morning.”

Steve buried his face into Tony’s shoulder, probably failing to hide his smile. “Did you sleep?” he asked. “Because it only counts as morning if you sleep.” Which was supposed to be a joke, but when Steve looked up and saw Tony’s expression, his words trailed away in a sudden fog of foreboding, because Tony looked… wrong.

“It’s because I wanted you to know,” he said.

“I don’t-” Steve said, smiling because he didn’t know what Tony meant, he didn’t want to know what Tony meant, he didn’t-

“I wanted you to know exactly what you broke,” Tony said, and the disdain was back in his eyes, and the terror was back in Steve’s throat, because these couldn’t be Tony’s words, no, there had to be some mistake, _no no no_ -

“We’re going to go back,” the other man told him. “You are going to sign the Accords, and we’re going to be a team. But you will never, ever, touch me again.”

And in a numbing burst Steve saw, too late, the vicious edges of Tony’s revenge. Understood the depths of the abyss the other man had now opened between them. The revelatory night they had just shared had been nothing but a trap, one Steve had marched into willingly, too eager to show trust, too desperate to risk caution.

“You planned this,” he breathed, unable to believe Tony _capable_ of such cruelty, searching his face desperately for a sign, for hope, for doubt. Anything.

Yet the man he saw wore the blank face of a stranger, an impostor with ice in his eyes.

Almost, in that moment, his enemy.

Fury rose in Steve, a bitter seething mass of loss and rage and loneliness, because he had believed. Even though Steve had known better, Tony had made him _believe_. Unable to bear the man’s touch, he flinched away, his very skin aching at the loss of Tony’s heat.

The other man lay still, unmoved.

Steve scrambled to his feet, mechanically gathering his clothes off the floor, then stormed out of the room, still too stunned and hurt and furious to say a word.

Tony watched him go, silent.

Once outside, the shaking started. Steve continued downstairs anyway, gathering the rest of his clothes, then opened endless doors until he found a guest room with a working shower. Under the running water he thought he could cry, but instead he found himself staring blankly at the wall, his eyes following the pattern of the tiles, his fingers twitching at his side.

In the wake of hope, the situation had gained a crystal clarity.

He could see now how well Tony had used Steve’s ridiculous kiss against him, snaring him in a trap worthy of Zemo’s foul designs. And again, Steve had failed to see the danger until too late. Even if he’d never known Tony to stoop so low as this before, Steve had heard enough stories from before Afghanistan. He’d read the reports, the endless scandals. The man he’d considered a friend had seemed above such petty manipulations. Steve had wanted to believe that Tony had changed, blinded by his own faith in people’s essential goodness.

That was a weakness that Steve could no longer permit. The truth was simple. Tony Stark was not worthy of his trust. Even if this was just the other man's revenge for Steve’s own betrayal. Even if, in some ways, Steve had provoked this retaliation. And Tony had been nothing if not clear. He’d told Steve they were no longer friends. It had been Steve’s mistake to wish they could be anything more.

Too late, Steve accepted the bitter reality. His place would never be here, by Tony’s side. The friendship he’d cherished was gone. There was nothing left to believe in, nothing to try or do or explain. It was over. And he was done.

Muscle by muscle, Steve forced himself to relax, closing his eyes against the stinging spray of hot water. His mistake was embarrassing, and all too clear in hindsight, but at least there was an obvious remedy available to him.

All he had to do was stay far away from Stark.

Mind resolute, Steve wrenched his thoughts away, focusing on the situation that awaited him back in New York. With military precision, he finished his shower, dressed and returned to the Quinjet. When the other man eventually made an appearance, he didn’t bother speaking to Steve, instead saying nothing at all on the long flight home.

In truth, Steve barely noticed the silence. He already knew it was over; he was _done_.

And there was nothing left to say.


	2. Chapter 2

14:47, Thursday 28th June 2018

The barrage of flashes had seared hotspots onto Tony’s vision, even through the protection of his sunglasses. He gritted his teeth and silently cursed whichever overpaid press wrangler had forgotten to outlaw blinding as a photographic team sport. Even T’Challa was wearing a perceptible frown, the equivalent of a Code Green for anyone else. The San Francisco crew had gotten themselves a world-class support team, he’d be the first to admit it, but this would never have happened on Pepper’s watch.

Yet enduring the cameras was the last hurdle on the schedule before the official launch could begin, and so Tony tried to keep his expression loose and comfortable as T’Challa finished up listing the Wakandan influences on the space network’s design. Again. Over the past year, Tony had seen the King handle constant petty disbelief about the true extent of Wakanda’s technological contributions. Such disrespect should have been a headline-grabbing outrage, but sadly, this was America.

“If his Majesty doesn’t mind, I’ll take the final question,” Tony drawled into the microphone, and deliberately waited for T’Challa’s nod before pointing into the eager sea of reporters. “You there, with the face. No, not you. Yes, your face.”

A wide-eyed, impossibly young kid stood up. Tony could practically see his knees knocking from the stage. “Uhm, thank you, Mr Stark, I uhm… Sorry, I just-” He broke off, coughing.

“Take your time, junior,” Tony said, enjoying the eye-rolling among the more seasoned reporters in the crowd. _Vultures, the lot of them._

“Uhm, so maybe this is more of a, uh, personal question,” the kid said, “but, uh, the readers of my blog would really like to know, are you going to return to New York after the launch? You know, with the wedding coming up…”

 _Son of a bitch._ The youth of today had no respect. “Questions regarding my personal life are still a hard nope.” Tony’s grin was a polite wall of teeth.

The kid bobbed his head violently in response. “Oh, oh of course, I just… if I may, I just wanted to say thank you, for going public. It really means a lot to the community.”

 _Oh._ These interactions, however important, had never gotten less awkward. There were too many people staring for sincerity, so Tony opted for blithe cheeriness. “Hey, love is love,” he grinned. “But how about you ask me something I can answer. Do you have any questions about what we’re doing here today? You know, the billion-dollar space defense system we’re about to deploy?”

Judging by his shrug, the kid did not, and Tony considered that a fitting end to the press conference. “Well then, I guess that’s all, folks.” He ignored the sighs of frustration, adopting a cheerily bored air. “Please make your way to the snack table, take a little break, maybe a power nap and we’ll be back shortly to hit the big red button. Wait, do we have a big red button?”

“We do not,” T’Challa confirmed.

Tony tossed the nearest journalist a flamboyant wink. “Wow, cancel everything, the day’s ruined…” As he’d hoped, his joking broke the room’s focus, and as low rumbles of conversation broke out amongst the crowd, he and T’Challa were able to make a clean escape.

Tony kept chattering as Okoye escorted them through the ubiquitous SHIELD-designed maze of identical corridors. Too much chattering, he knew. Yet after a year of working together, he’d learned to tell whether the Wakandan King’s implacable politeness was masking annoyance or amusement. Luckily today T’Challa seemed amused by his babbling, because today Tony couldn’t have shut up if he tried. This planetary defense system, if successful, would go a long way towards alleviating his daily struggle with existential cosmic terror. After today, he might actually be able to sleep.

Of course, it was hard to shake the feeling that something was about to fuck it all up at the last minute.

Chattering helped.

They reached the day’s designated safe-room, currently guarded by two Dora Milaje. Inside, Shuri was draped over an armchair in a teenager’s spine-killing sprawl, restlessly flicking through music channels on the suite’s giant screen.

“Have you been loitering in here all day?” T’Challa asked, disapproving. “A great moment of history is happening just outside your door.”

“Only the boring part, brother,” she sniffed. The Princess had earned her disdain, in Tony’s opinion. Just as Stark Industries’ role had come second to Wakanda’s in manufacturing the satellites, Tony had found himself relegated to assisting Shuri with the overall design. Playing second fiddle to a genius teenager was a situation he was perfectly calm and happy about, despite popular expectation. Rhodey had laughed until he cried. Something about karma.

However, Tony had learned to steer clear of the siblings’ comfortable bickering, so when his nano-display alerted him of an incoming call, he was happy for the excuse to dodge into an empty side-room.

That is, until he saw who was calling. “Friday, voice-only,” he said, just in time.

“Babe?” He sounded annoyed. “You there?”

“Hey,” Tony answered.

“I can’t see you.”

“Yeah, sorry. Not the best location.”

Silence. “You alone?”

“Not visually,” Tony said. Which wasn’t really a lie. If he opened the door, the others would be able to see him.

He seemed to accept the excuse. “I was watching you,” he said, voice dropping low, husky. “You look so good on TV, babe.”

Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest side table. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to summon the energy to play along. “How good?”

“Good enough to make me miss you even more,” the answer came. “So tell me, when are you coming home?”

Usually Tony could think of two dozen ways to dodge any question, but here he was, drawing a blank. “Sometime soon, I promise.”

“Does that mean days? Hours? Weeks?” He sounded annoyed again.

Hurriedly, Tony ran the calculations. “If everything goes well today, I can maybe get away at the weekend,” he said.

“Fine, but if you don’t, I’m gonna fly out there and join you. You’ve been away too long.”

“No, no, I promise,” Tony said. “I’ll be home this weekend. Sunday at the latest.”

“Alright then,” he said. A pause, then, “so did you think he was cute?”

Tony closed his eyes. “Who?”

“The kid you picked, with the blog. The one with the face.”

“I honestly didn’t really think about it,” Tony said, glancing at the closed door. If someone, anyone, walked through, he would have a reason to hang up. Stop it before he really got started.

“You sure? Blond hair. Blue eyes. Seems exactly your type.”

Tony sighed, weary. “Why do you always do this?” he asked.

The answer, when it came, sent ice down his spine. “You know why.”

“I have to go,” Tony blurted, and ended the call. He stared at the inert icon on the nano-display, flushed with immediate regret. “Friday, send follow-up text: Sorry, darling, had to run. Duty calls, you know how it is. See you on Sunday.” He paused. “I love you. End text.”

The small room seemed enormous in the silence. Tony pulled off his sunglasses and sank onto a nearby couch, knuckling at his eyes. After the successful launch last week, he’d planned to catch up on his sleep, look strong and rested for the cameras. He’d spent every night instead staring at the ceiling stains in his tacky hotel room, trying not to think of the date, listing reasons to not break open the minibar. He’d somehow managed to stay sober despite the endless boredom, managed to stay alert despite the seeping exhaustion, until now. Halfway through the busiest day he’d had all year, and his body was beginning to crash. _Perfect_.

His mood plummeted further when the Starkphone in his hand began to ring directly, sending his heart rate racing in horrified reaction. _How- No, Friday should have-_ With a stab of relief, he saw it was Happy’s name on the screen, yet he found himself just staring at the phone, finger hovering over the answer button.

“Shall I connect you, boss?” Friday asked through his earpiece. Discreetly. Carefully.

Tony ignored her. He watched the call ring through and end, watched Happy’s name drop from his screen.

“He’s leaving a voicemail,” Friday informed him.

“Play it,” he whispered, then closed his eyes and listened as his former bodyguard’s voice rang out in the empty room.

“Ah, hey Tony, sorry to miss you again. Uh, so, good news, the kid has officially completed the last training protocol, so May is arranging a small dinner as a celebration kind of thing. I think he’d like it if you could be there. Uh, and she’d invited me too, since… Well, I guess you’d say we’re dating now? I know, big surprise but, uh. It’s been pretty great. Ah, so it’d just be the four of us, for dinner, probably at their place. But, uh, May would really like to sit down with you first, I know things were a bit rough when she first found out about Germany but I guess seeing the kid in action, she’s a bit less…”

Happy paused. “I think she has some things to say that you might wanna hear, so… Anyway it won’t be for another couple of weeks, I’m on that Australia trip with Pepper first but soon as I get back, I’ll let you know what day she’s thinking…” Another pause. “I know you’re busy but I really hope you can make it this time, it would mean a lot to the kid. And it’s been… It’d just be good to see you, Tony. Uh. Okay, bye.”

Tony sank back on the couch, sagging under his growing exhaustion, because, in truth, he wanted to go. Seeing the kid was always an instant mood boost, and it had been months. Any other time, he would have fought to go. But right now, he couldn’t afford the effort.

“What can I do, boss?” Friday asked quietly.

He drew a sharp breath. “Delete message.” Just like the rest.

Tony sat in the empty room, staring at nothing, until Okoje burst in impatiently. “Launch time, Stark,” she announced, then paused, her gaze sharp. “Is something wrong?”

 _Shit._ Tony pasted a smile on his face. “Just some work knots in need of detangling, nothing that can’t wait.” He bounced past her to join the others, hoping in their company she’d let it go. And thankfully, she did.

By unanimous private consensus, the launch ceremony was itself just a formality, and the space network had been secretly up and running for the past week. Better to avoid embarrassing mishaps when broadcasting live on global TV, Tony knew. The public needed to feel secure in their planetary defenses almost as much as the defenses had to actually be secure. It was the same reason they had built a showy central headquarters in San Francisco, despite the fact the system’s diffused network could be accessed from anywhere as needed. The pageantry had its own function.

The secret launch the previous week had also gone smoothly, the system’s operations requiring little real input from Tony or Shuri in the days since. Thus far things had been, as Shuri had alluded to earlier, kinda boring.

Therefore when the NEO alert went off midway through the congratulatory speeches, triggering a melodramatic cascade of red lights and alarms ringing throughout the building, Tony’s first thought was that it had to be a prank. His second, that it was a glitch. The network would have picked up on an approaching ship long before it reached near-earth orbit.

_Unless…_

T’Challa had stepped up to calm the crowd as Shuri discreetly turned her back, pulling up data projections on her wrist display that she studied with laser intent.

Seeking refuge from distraction Tony deployed the full suit. “Friday, report.”

The AI obliged. “A ship has appeared in orbit, boss. The system detected no sign of approach. It just wasn’t there, until it was. According to its entry vector, it is heading for New York.”

A paralyzing numbness swept Tony from head to toe, bad enough that he was glad of his mask. _It’s happening again. It’s happening again, and we aren’t ready, I’m not ready-_

“Boss?” Friday broke through his panicked thoughts. “I believe the ship is attempting to make contact.” Shuri swung round, looking to Tony with an indecision he shared. Sure, in theory the system was designed around total transparency. In theory, it was supposed to broadcast proximity alerts so that all of Earth could simultaneously be made aware of a potential threat and people had time to take shelter without causing mass panic in the streets.

Broadcasting uncensored alien contact, on the other hand, had to be a step too far.

“Keep it contained,” Tony ordered quietly, letting Friday relay the message to the others. He was savagely aware that the whole situation was still being broadcast live on TV, that if his actions now triggered mass panic that this would be only the beginning of unspeakable disaster.

“People of Earth,” a familiar voice boomed in his ear. “Fear not, we come in peace-”

There were the sounds of an indignant scuffle before a second voice broke through. “Hi, can anyone hear me? Hi, this is Bruce Banner, uh, I’m actually from Earth, hello.”

If not for the cameras, he could have cried. “Bruce, what the absolute fuck,” Tony snapped instead.

“Tony? Jeez, hi, is that really you? Yeah, sorry, we just got here, apparently we tripped an alarm or something, was that one of yours?”

“Stark! It is good to hear your voice,” the first speaker bellowed over Bruce, cheerfully oblivious. No one else it could be.

Tony dismissed the front of his helmet but retained his sunglasses display, gesturing for everyone to calm down. “Hi Thor,” he said cheerfully, loud enough so the cameras could at least pick up his side of the conversation. “Welcome back to Earth. Been a minute.” His words sent a ripple of visible relief through the crowd.

Of course, then Thor kept talking. “Indeed, Stark, my quest has taken me far since last we parted, but I return with grave tidings of an unspeakable peril, an enemy who seeks to tear apart the very fabric of existence itself, and from whom I fear the Earth is in great imminent danger.”

Perfect, Tony thought, struggling to keep his face calm. “Lovely, glad to hear it. Sorry, you kinda crashed a party here, this isn’t really a good time to catch up.”

There was a pause. “So I see. Apologies for my indiscretion, Stark. You may be heartened to hear that I have brought mighty reinforcements to bolster your planet’s defenses, including a Valkyrie of legend, Heimdall the All-Seeing and a certain blue cube you may remember. Uh. Plus a few others who can fight and stuff, may be of use. But in exchange for this assistance, I would ask that Earth grant refuge to the rest of my people, for most on this ship are no warriors. They are farmers and craftsfolk, scholars and healers, children and families, peaceful souls who lost all but their lives in the destruction of Asgard.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Shuri flinch, saw her try to turn it into a cough.

“Wow, what a trip,” Tony managed. “Same neighbor you mentioned?”

“Oh no, no,” Thor said hastily, “different threat entirely, mostly my sister actually, uh, it’s a long story. Um. Banner wishes to speak now.”

“I do? Uh, sure, yeah. So Tony, this ship can land wherever you want it, or it can stay in orbit and we can take a shuttle to the Tower if that’s better,” Bruce said.

Tony’s stomach lurched. So many changes to explain. “Tell Thor to park on the lawn,” he said. “Might as well, since he ruined it last time.”

“Yeah, okay, he says he knows where that is.”

“Okay fine, fine, but jalapeno to ghost pepper, how spicy we talkin’?” Tony asked, winking at the nearest wide-eyed journalist.

Bruce, of course, caught on instantly. “About a sackful of Carolina Reapers,” he said soberly.

_Fuck._

_Holy fuck._

“Gotcha, Brucie bear,” Tony said, and ended the call. For the second time that day he stared at the little icon on his display, this time marveling at how, despite his utmost pessimism, life could always get worse. Then he clapped his hands and stepped up to address the crowd. And, by proxy, the entire watching world.

“Contrary to what you’re thinking, that little reunion was not actually on the schedule,” he declared, earning a few anxious giggles. “But if nothing else, today’s demonstration proves that Earth’s orbital defense system is fully operational. From this moment onward, nothing can or will approach our planet without our awareness and permission. What’s more, if I may be so bold as to confirm the return of Thor Odinson and Bruce Banner- no spoilers- it looks like the Avengers team might soon be back at full capacity. Not a bad day at the office, if I may say so myself.”

Relieved smiles turned to applause which turned to cheers, the crowd rinsing themselves clear of the last traces of panic. Tony waited it out, every fiber of his body aching to leave but equally aware of his duty to project complete confidence. Hurrying would create doubt, which would inspire fear, and he suspected there would be plenty of that before long.

_Asgard is…_

He had to get _out_ of here.

Just as Tony’s control was about to slip, T’Challa appeared at his side. “My apologies, Stark, but my staff requests your assistance regarding some operational analysis they wish to conduct,” he said, nodding serenely to anyone watching.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said, his face stiff. He forced a nod. Smiled. “Well, looks like duty calls, folks. Enjoy the buffet, and hey, let’s make it a free bar, shall we? Raise a glass or three, my treat.” He turned away from the now-jubilant crowd and followed T’Challa safely out of sight.

“My sister is already on the plane. You are welcome to accompany us,” T’Challa said, Okoje quietly falling in beside them.

Tony nodded. Flying in the suit might help steady him more, but if he freaked out mid-flight, he wouldn’t get back to the Compound in time. On a plane, worst case scenario, he could hide in the bathroom. “Any word on how they got so close without tripping the doorbell?”

“Shuri is investigating,” T’Challa said. He and Okoye spoke then, hashing out details of necessary schedule changes as they walked, not too fast, to the rooftop airstrip. Tony tuned it all out, drifting in a cold bubble of unreality. Bruce was back. Thor was back. Asgard was gone. Earth was next-

On the plane, Shuri was cutting through a forest of scrolling numbers. She looked up as they entered, mouth furious. “I’ve double-checked the data but there is no oversight, no malfunction. Just no sign of a ship until suddenly, boom! There they are. If they have stealth tech, we cannot track it.”

“Wasn’t their tech,” Tony said. “They must have used the Tesseract.”

“The _what_?” she demanded.

“Aka the Space Stone,” Tony explained, sitting heavily. “Looks like a big shiny blue cube. Something like the Mind Stone in Vision’s head. But the Tesseract’s abilities are more about bending space, creating wormholes, all that good shit. It’s how Loki was able to bring the Chitauri through to New York.”

Shuri considered it, then slumped back in her chair. “Well, that’s just cheating,” she grumbled. “I _hate_ magic.”

Tony shut his eyes, eerily drained. “You and me both,” he said.

T’Challa looked out the window. “We are departing. You may get some rest if you wish, Stark.”

Tony wanted to resist on principle, but he really was so exhausted. “Ten minutes, tops,” he murmured.

He was actually still awake when someone placed a blanket over him, but he hadn’t the energy to protest. Consequently he was so comfortable that he slept for a full thirty, long enough that when he woke, the plane was already descending. Tony tried to stretch the stiffness from his limbs without anyone noticing, looking around as he did. Not only was the plane beautifully designed, but like all Wakandan tech it was also fast, smooth and silent. His own jet seemed almost commercial in comparison. _Honestly, it’s annoying._

He froze when he saw someone had left a cup of fresh coffee by his seat as he slept. A simple, once-familiar gesture. Luckily, everyone else still seemed fully absorbed in their conversations, and soon the lump in Tony's throat eased enough that he could drink.

“We’ll be landing in five minutes,” Okoye swiveled around in her seat to tell him. “The alien ship will land approximately ten minutes later.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

The General ignored him entirely, which only confirmed his guess. She’d be the first to glare at him whenever he was stupid, but still, she was kind. Actually, the Wakandans were all uncommonly kind, each discreetly ignoring his bullshit this past year, calmly handling his haphazard contributions, adapting to his unplanned absences. Working with them had been an honor and a joy, but he supposed it was finished, now. Unless the world ended. Out the window, Tony spotted familiar configurations of trees and fields, green and lush in their summer finery, and was seized with a bizarre ache to don his suit and fly in the opposite direction. He could escape, go anywhere. Take himself nowhere and just fly.

Instead, they landed.

Tony was first off the plane, throwing himself into greeting his teammates, a wisecrack here, a nudge there. As usual, there was no sign of _him_. Tony would have liked to be grateful, but the absence left him echoing with uneasy anticipation. He tried to drown out the disquiet by laughing louder, chattering harder, to apparent success.

As the alien ship came into view, the small crowd grew dutifully quiet. Tony felt rather than saw someone slip in behind Barton, and turned his head automatically. And there _he_ was.

Accidentally, their eyes met.

Rogers gave a stiff nod.

Tony wrenched his gaze away, pulse racing. _Not today._

He had a job to do, so he held his focus throughout the reunion with Thor and Bruce, the introductions to the new faces and the reintroduction to one particularly greasy, smug face that Barton managed to flatten with a single punch. Worth the broken hand, in Tony’s opinion. They moved indoors for the real talk, Barton reappearing in a sling just as Romanoff finished briefing the newcomers on the past three years’ socio-political happenings, culminating in Wakanda’s emergence as the world’s nicest superpower.

It was a good thing that Team Earth had gone first.

As Thor explained the recent happenings in space, all the talk of prophecies and Infinity Stones and interplanetary genocide made the Accords conflict seem so unbelievably petty in comparison. Tony tried to listen carefully, his mind reeling, but as the scale of the threat facing them became clear, he felt a wave of hopelessness so pure that he couldn’t speak. His silence didn’t go unnoticed, judging by the glances he could feel from the others. Especially Bruce. But thankfully no one pressed him to contribute.

Rogers, of course, was in his element. Asking questions, offering suggestions. Making _plans_.

Yet it was all a fucking joke. They were too late. The threat was too vast, and Earth wasn’t ready. Thanos was coming; somehow those few words held more weight than the thousands Tony had spoken over the years, were more effective than any of his arguments. His pleas to prepare. Because he’d _known_ something was coming; he’d warned the team, but no one had wanted to hear it. Every time he pushed, they’d picked Rogers instead, falling in behind his noble words and shiny optimism. No matter what he said now, he knew they would rather follow their Captain, all the way to their noble shiny destruction.

And so Tony said nothing, did nothing, tried his best to feel nothing. Instead he sat still in endless sinking exhaustion, trying to keep his breath steady, trying to pay attention as the others argued back and forth about strategies and deployments.

All he could hear were children squabbling over the best way to die.

Despite his best efforts, his breathing was beginning to unravel when Barton suddenly barked at everyone to shut up. The archer had already drawn his bow, arrow ready and pointed to an empty corner of the room. A tiny yellow ring of light had appeared and now widened rapidly, the golden circle throwing sparks as it grew.

 _Magic_ , Tony assumed with dull interest.

There was another location visible through the circle. _Portal_ , he guessed, just as a tall man in a red cape stepped through, accompanied by a short man dressed like a monk.

“Excellent, you’re all here,” the tall man said. He had the haughty air of a bored substitute teacher, a well-shaped goatee, and Tony had absolutely no idea who he was. Judging from the fearsome array of weapons that had appeared, neither had anybody else. Tony glanced down at his bare palms, only then realizing he could have summoned the armor. _Huh._

Yet the tall man was unimpressed by the display. “Oh, calm down,” he said briskly. “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. And I’m here to help.”

***

It turned out Tony was right about the magic. The Doctor was literally a wizard, which turned out to be both a thing and a thing Earth had secretly depended on for centuries to avert total apocalyptic catastrophe, which was just great news. He also claimed to be the cult-appointed guardian of the Time Stone. Since Thor had brought the Space Stone and Vision held the Mind Stone, that meant three of the most powerful cosmic forces in the universe were now gathered in a room that smelled of nervous armpit.

According to Thor’s greasy brother, Thanos wanted to collect all six Stones so he could wipe out half of all life in the universe, which was almost impressively stupid as evil plans went. Now that Thanos had taken the Power Stone from Xandar, he was already one of the most powerful beings in the universe. If he managed to acquire Earth’s three Stones, he would be unstoppable.

After much discussion, the eventual Rogers-led consensus was that Thanos had to be eliminated, and Earth had made itself the obvious battleground.

Therefore once the Asgardian survivors were settled on Earth under Heimdall’s stewardship, Thor, Loki and the Valkyrie would use the Tesseract to go to Nowhere and retrieve the Reality Stone for safekeeping. The Soul Stone had been lost millennia ago, and would hopefully stay that way.

When the remaining four Stones were gathered on Earth, Thanos would have no choice but to attack. The magical Doctor and his gloom-faced monk friend would be able harness the power of the Stones to protect the planet, while the Avengers would take on Thanos directly.

***

It was a risky plan, even for Rogers. It might even work.

Tony hated it.

He hated himself more, for what he was about to suggest.

“It won’t be enough,” he said, and everyone fell silent. As if they already knew. As if they all knew but they’d been waiting for someone else to say it. Tony gritted his teeth. “Let’s assume everything goes perfectly. Assume we win, take out Thanos, gather the full set of sparkle stones. Whoopee, congratulations to us. But actually, our bad, because Earth has just permanently painted a target on its back.”

Tony stared around the room, both seeking and loathing the unspoken agreement he saw on everyone’s faces. “Maybe we really can take out Thanos. Maybe. But what about the next guy? And the next? And the ten guys after that?”

“What would you suggest, then?” Rogers asked tightly, not quite looking at him.

Tony raised his chin, focusing his own gaze on the wizard. “We find a way to destroy the Stones. Take them out of play, forever.” The Doctor frowned, uneasy but thoughtful.

The others were far less open to the idea, Barton scoffing audibly. “Tony, these are manifestations of cosmic forces,” Bruce said carefully. “Who even knows if they _can_ be destroyed?”

“Actually, I believe it may be possible,” Vision spoke up; briefly, he met Tony’s gaze, both understanding and acceptance in his preternaturally calm eyes. Tony felt a mixed wave of remorse and pride as the android tapped the Mind Stone in his forehead. “I have been studying this artifact ever since I became aware of my own existence. Despite my efforts, I am still not sure how it works. Yet I believe that the gem’s matrix could be destabilized by a sufficient power…” He hesitated and turned to Wanda beside him. “…that is of a similar kind to its own.”

Wanda’s face drained of all color. “No.” She grasped at her lover’s sleeve as if for help. “Viz, _no_. I _can’t._ ”

He caught her hand between both of his. “I fear you must,” Vision said softly.

“But you’ll _die_ ,” she whispered, her face young yet her eyes impossibly ancient with remembered grief.

“Maybe not,” Tony and Bruce said in unison. Bruce caught his eye, grinning. God, how Tony had missed him. He gestured for Bruce to go ahead.

The scientist leaned forward. “Vision’s mind is made up of a complex overlay of multiple parts, kinda like how a human brain is itself a synthesis between remnant reptile systems and the more recently evolved mammalian system. The Mind Stone was needed at first to give him the kind of raw processing power that we find in infants, which worked well enough to create a truly new type of life. But Vision’s brain has spent the past two years laying down neurological patterns, basically solidifying its own independent structure. If we can bypass the Mind Stone as an energy source while preserving his synaptic patterns, we should be able to extract the Stone while leaving his cognitive abilities intact.”

Across the room, Wanda didn’t look convinced. “He may be able to think, but will he be able to _feel_?”

“I’m sorry,” Vision told her. “There will likely be significant changes, even with total success. For one, I expect to lose most of my combat abilities. Yet the risk to life everywhere is too great, otherwise.”

Tony could see the war between denial and necessity play out on Wanda’s face, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Red sparks danced over her fingers, hinting at the power she held so precariously in check. Yet when Vision reached for her hand, the red light faded, and the young Avenger sat up straight. She nodded, signaling her acceptance. But then she cast a glare towards Tony, her eyes smoldering with a loathing second only to the reproach on Barton and Romanoffs’ faces.

He’d already factored this into his calculations so Tony just sighed, accepting the blame. It _had_ been his idea, and, well. Hate was easier, he knew. _Whatever gets you through the day, kid._

Across the room, Shuri and T’Challa had been conferring quietly. “If you agree,” Shuri spoke up, turning towards Vision, “I would like to attempt the extraction back in Wakanda. My laboratory is the best equipped to analyze the Mind Stone, plus I may have an idea about a replacement power source that would preserve some of your abilities.”

Bruce looked a tad skeptical, but Tony nodded. “No objections here.”

Doctor Strange coughed once. “For long, complicated reasons I don’t wish to explain, Earth will need to keep the Time Stone intact or face other, worse, annihilations,” he said. The monk, Wong, nodded confirmation. “And as far as is practicable, I must stay at my post in New York for similar reasons-”

“Wait, New York?” Barton interrupted him, a dangerous edge to his voice. “You’re saying your cult is based in _New York_?”

“There are three Sanctums across the globe, New York is but one,” the Doctor told him curtly.

The archer stared at him, eyes narrow. “Still. Would’ve been nice to have some assistance back when it started raining aliens.” 

The Doctor sighed. “We don’t have time for this-” he began, but Barton cut him off.

“Just saying, Doc, it’s all well and good you turning up for the big parades, but don’t think that’s enough to make you a fucking hero,” he sneered. “Around here, we value people who show the fuck up.” But as Barton’s gaze slid sideways in his direction, Tony realized that the archer’s venom was targeted at _him_ , not the wizard.

Bitter, stinging words rose in his throat, but Tony swallowed them back. “Noted,” he said instead, voice as cold as he could manage. “Shall we move on?” Barton opened his mouth, but subsided after a Romanoff elbow to the ribs.

By the quizzical expression on Strange’s face, at least the archer hadn’t managed to offend their new and very necessary ally. “Anyway,” the wizard said drily, “I was about to agree with you, Stark. The other Stones are too dangerous to be kept on Earth long-term. Infinite power poses too great a temptation for the uninitiated. From my own study of the Time Stone, I believe the gems themselves serve no inherent purpose. Destroying them would simply render their powers inaccessible to anyone upon this plane of existence. Their destruction couldn’t affect the cosmic forces to which they connect anymore than smashing your phone could take down the Internet.”

“Speak for yourself, Mistoffolees,” Tony muttered. He hadn’t really meant for anyone to hear, but Shuri laughed heartily; no one else bothered to respond. For some reason, Tony thought of Peter, of how even after two years, the kid was still too awed in his presence to fully laugh at his jokes; Tony found it both awkward and adorable.

“Alright,” Rogers announced as he stood up, the others as usual springing to attention at his every twitch. “I’ll keep a full team with me in New York to protect the Time Stone. Everyone else will head to Wakanda to work on the Mind Stone and coordinate the planetary defenses. Thor will use the Space Stone to bring us the Reality Stone. By the time he returns, we will hopefully have a way to neutralize these things.”

Wanda would be in Wakanda, Tony realized. And Barton, ugh. But there was no way he was staying in New York under Rogers’ supervision, so he turned to Bruce, hoping to recruit at least one friendly face. “Hey Brucie bear, you up for a road trip?”

“I’m so confused,” Bruce said, “but sure.”

Final plan confirmed, the Asgardians made their farewells for the night, and the Wakanda team drifted together for a quick discussion of duties.

It was nothing revelatory. Tony and Bruce would assist Shuri in the lab until there was trouble, at which point, Okoye and T’Challa would marshal the Wakandan defenses. Tony was not surprised when Barton chose to accompany Wanda and Vision as personal security detail, but somehow he hadn’t expected Romanoff to do the same. The two women had grown close in the past few years, he supposed. Yet perhaps Romanoff had more personal motivation, as she subtly maneuvered Bruce aside for a private chat. For his part, the scientist looked endearingly eager to participate in said chat, her low voice drawing him in closer and closer. _Get it, kiddos,_ Tony thought, and snickered.

He stepped aside to give them more space, pulling out his phone as an excuse to stay clear of the rest of the group, and was oddly heartened that he had exactly zero missed calls. No furious voice-mails, no scathing messages demanding his immediate attention. Tony tapped idly at the screen, welcoming the brief moment of peace despite the looming end of the world.

On the other side of the room, he could hear the New York team also getting organized. Doctor Strange and Wong stood by, here and there commenting on the preparations. Rogers, of course, was legally obliged to stay in the Compound until an imminent threat appeared, as per his parole, but permission should be granted for him to patrol New York without much fuss. Sam had chosen to stick with the Captain, as usual, and from what Tony could overhear, Scott and Hope would also be called in from the west coast. They would need additional air support, but he assumed they would ask Rhodey to fill that role when he got back. Tony made a mental note to brief Peter as well. Since Happy was away, he might as well call the kid himself. Completed protocols or not, Peter knew better than to get involved with any actual battles, but he should be told to keep his eyes and ears open.

“He’s _what_?” Tony heard Bruce exclaim loudly behind him, and the next thing he knew, the scientist was squeezing him tight. “Tony! Nat just told me! You’re getting married?”

Ambushed, Tony tried for nonchalance. “Oh, yeah. No big deal.”

“Uh, yes, big deal,” Bruce countered. “I can’t believe I made it back in time, wow. Where _is_ Pepper, anyway?” He looked around as if she’d been hiding in the walls.

That ache would never truly go away. “She’s living in LA with her husband,” Tony said.

Bruce frowned. “Uh, okay, but who else would you- wait, did you two finally…?” And then, in nightmarish slow motion, he gestured towards Rogers and began to smile as if-

Tony seized his arm, too hard but- “You’ve never met him.”

“Oh,” Bruce said. “Okay.” Tony dropped Bruce’s arm like it was on fire, for a horrible moment not knowing what to say.

But because Bruce was a wonderful, tactful friend, he changed the subject himself; Romanoff, who to her credit looked embarrassed by her part in the awkwardness, also stepped up to smooth the conversation over. By the time the crowd began to disperse, the three of them were firmly returned to merriment and soon left on their own quest, marching off arm in arm in search of Bruce’s favorite, long-lost foods.

Despite the shocks and turmoil of the day, despite the bone-deep weariness that just lived now at the back of his skull, Tony was actually enjoying himself as they staggered giggling across the open courtyard and kicked open the doors to the mess hall.

Of course, it couldn’t last.

Somehow, he was there, sitting at Tony’s favorite table.

“Anthony! Babe!” he called, standing as if to catch his attention.

Tony froze, then broke away from the other two, quickly covering the ground between him and the tall blond man. “Ty, darling, what are you doing here?” he asked, plastering a smile on his face.

His fiancé scooped him up off the ground and dramatically kissed him. Just as he knew Tony hated. “I missed you,” he whispered when he let Tony go. “I know you said Sunday, but I guessed you would be here, and once he recognized me, the guy at the gate let me in.”

The guy on the gate was getting fired. “I… What a surprise,” Tony said, forcing enthusiasm. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Tiberius smirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “How much?”

Tony pressed a long kiss to his lips, hoping to distract him. “Enough to make me wanna take you home right now.”

Of course, it didn’t work. “Babe, no way, I couldn’t possibly take you away from your friends,” Tiberius said coolly. He glanced over to where Romanoff and Bruce were busily pretending not to watch them. “You and Banner were kinda close before, right? Maybe you should introduce me.”

 _Please_ , Tony thought. _Don’t_. “Okay, but then we really should get going,” he said. “I was just getting ready to leave myself, didn’t fancy third wheeling it much longer.”

Something in Tiberius’ stance relaxed. “Those two? Seriously?”

Tony sent mental apologies towards his friends, knowing the rumor would be all over the papers in the morning. Yet he’d rather be indiscreet than risk Ty taking against Bruce. “Never quite got started before he left, but I’d put money on it still.”

“Huh,” Tiberius said, his cold blue eyes sliding away in dismissal. “We won’t linger, then.”

Relief flooded Tony, kept him buoyant through the introductions. “Ty, you’ve met Natasha, this is Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is my fiancé, Tiberius Stone.”

Romanoff nodded hello, then busied herself making coffee. “Hello, Mr Stone,” Bruce said, in that special Bruce tone reserved for people he didn’t like. _Shit._ Hopefully Ty wouldn’t realize.

“Please, call me Tiberius,” his fiancé grinned, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulders. An arm that was just a touch too heavy, but Tony knew better than to fidget. “Anthony calls me Ty, of course. Has done ever since we were kids.”

“Oh, you’re old friends?” Bruce asked.

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Tiberius said with a great booming laugh. His grip on Tony’s shoulders tightened, squeezing him closer. “Sadly, my family moved to Europe and we fell out of touch. Then a couple years ago, I walk into a bar in Hawaii and there’s my Anthony, gazing up at me like no time had passed. We’ve been inseparable ever since.” Recognizing the cue, Tony glanced up through his eyelashes and smiled shyly. Tiberius smirked back and touched his cheek, just the correct amount of tenderness in his gaze.

“Congratulations,” Bruce said. “Nat told me about the wedding.”

“Yes, it's making quite the sensation in the media, for better or worse,” Tiberius said. “I do try to keep the coverage minimal across my own networks, otherwise it would be terribly gauche, yet it seems the public can't get enough of our story. But of course, as Anthony likes to say, love is love. You will be joining us for the big day, I hope?” 

Bruce’s glance slid away, and for one dizzying moment Tony thought his friend was going to decline. But Bruce came through. “I’ll always be there for Tony,” he said instead.

“Excellent,” Tiberius said, but he was irritated, Tony could tell. “We’ll have an extra invite printed. It was a pleasure meeting you at last, Bruce, but Tony and I really need to get going. Long drive home.”

“Wouldn’t you like to eat something first, Tony?” Romanoff asked, her gaze boring through him.

“Nah, we’ll grab something on the way,” Tony said quickly, Ty’s impatience like a fierce wind at his back. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning, then we’ll catch up on the road, Bruce, yeah?”

Bruce seemed about to speak, but just shook his head instead. “Yeah, of course, Tony. Good night.”

“Night, Bruce, Natasha,” Tony said. Tiberius gave a quick nod goodbye, already disinterested. The others watched in silence as they left.

Tony’s pulse hammered a drumbeat the whole way to the car, which Tiberius had parked in the most sheltered corner of the lot. The bigger man was always keen to avoid scrutiny, but the Compound was a bad place for that. Windows everywhere, by design.

With the car’s privacy in sight, Tiberius sped up, his longer stride forcing Tony to uncomfortable effort, his grip on Tony’s arm becoming too punishing to ignore.

“Ty, slow down,” Tony tried. When the blond man ignored him, Tony felt a surge of anger that for once he didn’t squash. Windows everywhere. He wouldn’t dare.

“Get the fuck off me, Ty,” Tony snarled, breaking his arm out of his fiancé’s grip and stopping dead.

The other man swung round, lips sneered, as if the very sight of Tony offended him. “I thought you wanted to get me home, _babe_.”

“Why did you show up here?” Tony demanded. “This is where I _work_ , you said you wouldn’t-”

“I knew you’d be here,” Tiberius said, wildness darkening his blue eyes. “I knew you’d be here with _him_.”

The same fight, over and over. Tony was so tired. “It’s part of my fucking _job_ , Ty-”

“How _dare_ you talk to me so rudely, showing me no fucking respect, I am your fiancé and you will not speak to me like that-”

“You’re making it sound like I have a choice, he’s a part of the team-”

“-I let you go off alone for _weeks_ and now _this_ is how you repay me-”

Contempt for the man’s pettiness broke the last of Tony’s restraint. “Oh, fuck off, I’m not doing this, you understand? Something is happening, something serious, and I have to do my _job_ -”

“-and what did you mean, ‘catch up on the road’? Did you seriously think you could just up and leave me again-”

“Jesus, Ty, I’m sorry but I just _don’t have time_ for your bullshit right now-”

Next thing Tiberius had grabbed Tony by the shoulders and shook him, hard enough to make his head snap back.

 _But the windows_ , Tony thought, dazed.

The bigger man pushed his face close, teeth clenched. “Then you will _make time_ ,” he hissed, his rage condensed to an acute, icy calm. So soon. Bad sign.

A sweeping exhaustion came over Tony, draining him right to his bones, because he could already feel how the evening was going to go, and by the morning it wouldn’t really matter anyway. And so he didn’t protest as Tiberius seized his wrist again and dragged him over to the car, because there would be no point. It didn’t matter, none of this mattered. If the world ended, nothing ever would.

As the other man searched for his keys, Tony stared up at the windows, blank and unfeeling, no protection at all. Then, as if conjured from a dream, Tony saw the familiar figure; just a dark shape behind the glass, but somehow Tony knew.

 _He_ was there at the window.

Watching.

A blast of excitement burst through Tony, humiliation or exultation or both. _Watch, then,_ he thought, darkly jubilant. And with one smooth step he had slipped into Tiberius’ arms, was pressing apologies against his fiancé’s lips.

Roused to anger, Tiberius could always switch just as easily to lust, and was now unable to resist pinning Tony against the car, ruthlessly grinding against him. For the first time in months, Tony welcomed the pain, was able to transmute it into harsh pleasure; hot poisoned fuel for his own poisonous heat. So much like the early days, Tiberius cruel as a hurricane but Tony his savage equal. How reckless he had been, back in those early days. How heedless of the cost.

Later, much later, the debt had come due.

But right now, caught up in the sick thrill, Tony didn’t care.

 _He_ was watching. Nothing else mattered.

Then Tiberius was pulling away, and Tony was getting pushed roughly into the car, scrambling all the way over to the passenger’s side. As his fiancé started the engine with one hand and fumbled at his zipper with the other, Tony had just enough time to take one last victorious look out through the windscreen. Enough time to see, so that by the time Tiberius hit the accelerator and shoved his head down, Tony had already accepted the truth. The window was empty.

Nobody was watching.

No one was there.

***

07:59, Friday 29th June 2018

The morning meeting was due to start on the hour, but Tony Stark was nowhere to be seen.

That had never been unusual for routine Avengers meetings, and these past two years Stark’s absence was almost expected. Yet nothing about today’s meeting was routine. _He should be here_ , Steve thought. _Keeping everyone waiting, it’s… rude. Selfish._ The coiling irritation in his belly curled tighter with every passing minute. Steve tried to focus on the day’s necessities, but he could hear the early morning chatter of the team slide slowly into discontent.

Beside him, Clint cleared his throat. Steve frowned down at his tablet, trying to look preoccupied despite reading the same sentence over and over. The archer never had forgiven Stark for leaving his team-mates behind on the Raft, however brief a stay it had turned out to be. More damaging had been the year of parole that had followed, forcing Clint to stay estranged from his family or risk revealing their existence to Ross. Difficult as Stark could be, Steve thought the archer’s reaction was unfair. Maybe even petty. But despite Steve’s recurrent attempts to resolve the issue, Clint still leaped on any opportunity to vent his bitterness towards the billionaire; the meeting yesterday was just the latest example.

Today, Steve could sympathize with the impulse to complain. Yet he was the team leader; it would not be appropriate to get involved.

At fifteen minutes past the hour, Clint's tolerance had reached its limit. “ _Seriously_?” he spat out. “It’s the end of the goddamn world, you’d think Stark of all people would get out of bed on time.”

“Does this happen a lot?” Bruce asked. He was sitting on the far side of Natasha, and was one of the few people in the room who didn’t seem disgruntled.

Steve saw Natasha shrug. “He’s always kept odd hours,” she said. “Still gets the job done, so clearly it works for him.”

“Not lately,” Clint muttered, and privately, Steve had to agree. When Natasha raised an eyebrow, the archer leaned in, sneaking a careful glance at the Wakandan delegation across the room. “Word is he was a hot mess out west, kept dodging the job to jet off with that piece of shit at a moment’s notice.”

“You mean Tiberius?” Bruce asked. An involuntary shudder ran down Steve’s spine and he clenched his jaw, trying to drag his focus back to the meaningless words on his screen.

Beside him, the archer had winced theatrically at the name. “Ugh, yeah. I mean, a name like that, you gotta be a prick. But if you haven’t guessed already, we hate him.”

“Clint,” Natasha sighed.

“Oh c’mon, Tasha. He’s the worst,” Clint said, dragging his words out into a whine. “He calls me _Clinton_. And Stark has been less than useless since they shacked up together.”

Bruce gave him a sharp look. “Useless how?”

Clint sat up, delighted to indulge in his favorite topic before a fresh audience. “It’s all of his usual bullshit, but now his diva ass doesn’t bother to show up for anything involving the Avengers until we’re already on the field. He literally phones it in to briefings, bails on press conferences, he flat-out refuses to train with us. This past year he’s spent all his time either out west or off with Stone getting his rich ass kissed by paparazzi. Honestly, he’s been acting like he’s above the team ever since his buddy Ross fucked us with the Accords, and I’m over it.”

“Ah yes,” Bruce said softly. “That time the Avengers beat up an airport instead of communicating like adults. If only Tony could learn from your example.”

Clint snapped round to face him, eyes ablaze. “You weren’t there, Banner.”

But Bruce glared right back. “Be grateful for that.”

“Seriously?” Natasha asked. “You would have been on Tony’s side?”

Bruce didn’t take his eyes off Clint. “Maybe if the adults had done better at talking, he wouldn’t have needed a side.”

The scientist had a point, Steve knew, the rising hum of dismay in his chest blocking out whatever his teammates said next. The Accords dispute. The airport. Siberia. Each event had followed the previous as if inevitable, and yet… None of what Steve had feared had come to pass. He’d come back and signed, accepting four years’ parole in exchange for the opportunity to serve as an Avenger.

And then, Stark’s army of lawyers had ripped the Accords apart, forcing through amendments and protocols that Steve had never dreamed of, the finalized document safeguarding their ability to act as they saw fit in the interest of humanity. In truth, as an organization the Avengers had emerged better off than before, able to call on expert international assistance rather than being forced to scramble through situations on their own.

Steve had been appalled to realize that this had always been Stark’s plan, but for whatever reason the man hadn’t trusted Steve enough to share his full intentions. Yet thinking back, it was hard to blame him. As a colleague, Steve hadn’t listened, hadn’t trusted him enough to sign even though the billionaire had basically begged. And as a person, Steve hadn’t been brave, hadn’t done the right thing when it mattered most. Regardless of subsequent events, Steve knew Stark had paid a bitter price for Steve’s own mistrust, being the one Zemo had sought to destroy. 

Steve’s failures as a leader had been absolute, and he would own his share of the responsibility for everything up to Siberia. On his return to New York he had promised himself he would do better by his team-mates. He would _be_ better. Once the terms of his parole had been finalized, the team had voted to put Steve back in charge, giving him a chance to truly prove himself.

The fact that Stark wanted nothing to do with the Avengers anymore had made Steve’s life much easier.

Maybe he wouldn’t show up today at all.

Of course, seconds later the door was opening and Stark was bustling in at full throttle, firing out apologies that may even have been sincere, attributing his unavoidable delay to his efforts to secure international support for the new Asgardian settlement. Which, as excuses went, was fairly solid, Steve grudgingly supposed. Stark’s cheerful explanation washed away the worst of the room’s frustration, enough so that the briefing could get underway.

The plan had not changed much since the evening before, but for the sake of the newer faces in the room, each team’s leader would talk everyone through their preparations in full detail. Steve spoke about the preparations in New York, then sat so whoever was leading the Wakanda team could take the floor. Like everyone else, he’d assumed that would be Stark - old habits, Steve supposed - but when everyone looked to him, the billionaire was just staring at the floor. There was an awkward pause before Rhodey gently nudged him with an elbow.

“Uh?” Stark said, twitching to attention. “Oh, sorry. About that, actually I’ll need to stay on this New Asgard thing for a couple days, and it’ll be easier to pull strings from here. You don’t mind if we switch teams, platypus?” He tilted his head towards Rhodey beside him.

Rhodey eyed him, clearly surprised but going with it. “Hey, I’m always happy to visit Wakanda.”

“So you’ll be staying in New York?” Wanda blurted out, an odd expression on her face.

Stark blinked. “That is literally just what I-” He turned back to Rhodey. “Isn’t that just what I said?” The Colonel shushed him.

Wanda gave the billionaire a slow smile, her eyes gleaming with loathing. “Good.” Steve stifled a sigh. Another team issue he might have to address. Luckily, Stark just ignored her.

“I can speak for Wakanda’s defenses,” T’Challa said. “But who will lead the second team in your absence, Stark?”

From behind his sunglasses, Stark gave a toothy grin. “Hey Romanoff, you busy?”

She muttered something vile in Russian, then sighed. “You owe me.”

The meeting moved on, but Steve didn’t hear a further word that was said. Stark was staying on in New York, so he would be on Steve’s team. They would have to work together. Stark would have to speak to him. Why on earth would the other man want that? Steve flicked his glance sideways. The ludicrous sunglasses hid a lot, but in truth, Stark looked awful, like he hadn’t slept at all.

And then, with a sting of remorse, Steve realized why. Thanks to the terms of his parole, Steve still wasn’t allowed to leave the Compound without clearance. It was no coincidence that for the past couple of years, Stark had rarely bothered to show his face there, despite living in Stone’s ridiculous mansion a mere hour away. But Bucky was still in Wakanda and had offered his help in the upcoming battle. If he’d stuck with that team, Stark would have had to work alongside the man who murdered his parents, all while fighting the end of the world.

It was a lot to ask of anyone, and Steve felt a slight shame that he hadn’t realized the ramifications earlier. Of course, Stark would rather stay in New York, near the comfort of his home. His fiancé. Working with Steve just happened to be the lesser of two evils. Nothing more.

In truth, Steve wouldn’t enjoy being around Stark either. Yet perhaps this could be an opportunity to prove that he really was the leader everyone thought him to be. Their last few encounters had gone… less than well. But this time, Steve vowed, he would conduct himself professionally, showing he could be fair and calm and equal to the task of working with anyone.

Even Tony Stark.

***

11:07, Sunday July 1st 2018

It took only three days for Steve to smash his stupid vow into tiny stupid little pieces.

“You’re five hours late, Stark,” he snarled. “Five. Hours. Do you not understand how that throws off the schedules of everyone else on your team?”

Hovering above the Sanctum’s rooftop, the blank planes of Iron Man’s mask leered back at him. “Oh, gee, is _that_ how math works? Pray tell, Captain.”

 _I’ll tell that you’re an irresponsible shit-headed little-_ Steve sucked in a lungful of air and held it while he counted to three. “Go relieve Sam and Scott. And you can maybe have the basic manners to apologize for wasting their time.”

“You can maybe eat my ass, Sesame Street,” Stark shot back, and with a blue flash, Iron Man was gone.

Steve clenched his fist and struck the waist-high wall before him, accidentally cracking a few bricks. Dammit, but Stark was _impossible_.

Oh, sure, on Friday he’d gone along readily enough with the team’s schedule, following commands without a fuss, otherwise ignoring Steve’s entire existence but in a polite sort of way. He’d left early to continue his lobbying on Asgard’s behalf, promising a punctual return.

Yet Saturday morning, the man had shown up at the Sanctum forty minutes late, and in such disarray that for one horrified moment Steve had thought he was drunk. Stark had instead claimed major sleep deprivation, blaming both Asgard and his horny fiancé, pairing the latter excuse with a salacious wink to a visibly disinterested Wong. Although Stark had sworn that Friday could keep him steady enough to fly, Steve hadn’t trusted a word he'd said, ordering him to go sleep instead. That move had left Stark sullen and Sam furious at having to pull double duty. Stark had taken over air patrol from Sam around lunchtime but spent most of his time sniping bitterly at the team. When Sam returned around midnight, Stark had left again, insisting he’d be back at six am for the morning shift.

Instead, Stark had arrived a full five hours late, offering zero apologies. Wedding stuff, he’d announced breezily. As if that excused anything. His lack of shame was more horrifying than his lack of punctuality. Steve was honestly beginning to wonder if the New York team would be better off without Stark involved. The Asgardians had been granted an official settlement in Norway and landed there last night, and Thor’s team had just left for Nowhere. With only New York’s defense left to worry about, Stark really should have been more focused today, not less. There really was no excuse.

As Sunday wore on, Steve’s fury didn’t dim, but it did retreat to the back of his mind. Doctor Strange came to join him on the roof for a time, which helped. Steve asked endless questions about magic that were probably really stupid, but the Doctor didn’t seem to mind. He wouldn’t talk about the threats he’d alluded to, but he was refreshingly candid about the basics of magical power, explaining how its mastery was not an innate gift born to a lucky few, but a skill anyone could learn. When the Doctor left him to his watch, Steve stared out over the city, his thoughts aglow with all the mysteries of the universe.

It was now coming up to four o’clock in the afternoon, so when Wong came upstairs to cover his post, Steve was eager to find food. What he found, to his renewed irritation, was Stark sitting with the Doctor, both huddled over a large cauldron that was no doubt doing something magical and obscure. Steve stopped in the doorway, unnoticed, trying to school his breathing back towards calm.

Stark was talking excitedly “-and apparently he can see any living person in the universe, no matter where they are. Thor says his father took him in when he was young but he already had the gift, they never did figure out where it came from-”

“-so you think he may have some connection to the Soul Stone,” Doctor Strange finished, his excitement no less.

“Exactly,” Stark crowed, giving Strange the glorious star-burst grin that Steve had once so cherished.

From what Steve could see, the Doctor was appreciative of the experience, his answering smile slow and soft. But then his cape twitched oddly and he immediately looked in Steve’s direction, an emotion Steve couldn’t read flashing across his face.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Strange said smoothly. “Please, join us. Stark and I were just discussing the Soul Stone.”

As if Steve needed an explanation. People can talk. None of his business. He sat anyway. He could be calm.

Across the weird bowl, Stark’s smile had faded. “Before you start with the yelling, Rogers, my suit is still on patrol, I can see everything Friday sees from right here,” and he tapped at his sunglasses, the lenses faded to clear in the gloomy indoor light. “I just had a thought I couldn’t shake, and since Thor’s off on vacay, I needed Dumbledore’s input.”

Steve met Stark’s gaze. “Sounds fair,” he said, proud when his voice came out even and cool. “But next time...” He tapped at his earpiece, and Stark at least had the grace to look sheepish. “What have you got?” Steve asked, glancing into the cauldron. There was a shallow pool of liquid twisting oddly within it, but the reflection on the liquid’s surface was of a night sky with… _wow, is that_ two _moons?_

“Stark asked what I knew about the Soul Stone,” Doctor Strange answered. “Which unfortunately isn’t much. I don’t believe it has ever made its way to Earth.”

“But we know it’s orange,” Stark said, then shrugged. “Thor’s buddy, Heimdall, who used to run the BiFrost. He has glowing orange eyes, can see any living person’s location anywhere in the galaxy, but Thor has no idea how. Apparently it was a mystery even to Odin.”

“It might just be a coincidence, but I think it’s worth exploring. I may invite Heimdall for tea, once the Asgardians are settled,” the Doctor said.

They both looked at Steve expectantly, as if waiting for his opinion. He wished people would stop doing that for areas outside his expertise. Magic wasn’t punching. Yet the books he’d read on leadership said that most people just wanted support to validate their own choices, so he tried to look calm and certain. “Yeah, sounds good,” he said, and nodded to the cauldron. “What’s this for?” he asked.

The Doctor looked down at it and shrugged. “Oh, the Favored Bowl of Caelindiel. At one time it was used for scrying, but now it’s just decorative.”

Stark was staring down at it, his nose crinkled in confusion. “You told me that was a real-time feed of an alien sky.”

“Think of it like a screen-saver,” the Doctor said, then stood. “Lunch?”

For the tiniest of moments, Stark’s eyes met Steve’s, then flicked heavenward in exasperation. And Steve couldn’t help but give the tiniest grin in response.

Damn the man. He really was _impossible_ , because the following meal was almost pleasant, right up until it wasn’t. Steve truly hadn’t meant to bring up Stark’s lateness, but once he did, Stark threw him a glare. The conversation went downhill from there, the other man’s barbed comments causing Steve’s own irritation to boil over, the Doctor looking between them both with unruffled curiosity.

Eventually Stark slammed to his feet to leave the room, but at that very moment the public alert went off, signalling yet another alien arrival.

Two ships, Stark relayed, instantly reverting to his professional cool. One heading for Wakanda, the other about to rock up at the Sanctum’s door.

***

Afterwards, all Steve could remember of the battle was a series of crystalline moments, all else a blur in between.

The two aliens referred to themselves as the Children of Thanos. Apparently aliens could learn magic too, he discovered. Steve also learned that New Yorkers were great at responding to invasion alerts, their steady evacuation further supporting the theory that public alerts would help minimize civilian casualties. The property damage, unfortunately, couldn’t be helped. Things improved rapidly once Spider-Man showed up, which was embarrassing as both an adult and a soldier. Stark’s new nano-suit performed magnificently. Steve got thrown into a duck pond. While he was distracted, Wong saved Stark’s life, and got invited to his wedding.

In the end, they won.

Just about.

***

As the alien ship took off, leaving behind one freshly severed alien hand, Stark’s helmet melted away. “Everyone good?” he asked, panting, eyes darting over everyone in visual range. Even Steve, briefly. Professional courtesy, Steve assumed.

Spider-Man nodded, also breathing heavily. “Uh, so Mr Stark? Were either of those the guy?”

“Guy? What guy?” Steve said.

“The big bad guy who’s coming to Earth, uh, Thanos? Mr Stark told me to watch out for him,” Spider-Man explained, his young voice cheerful. He did a double-take at Stark’s unhappy grimace. “Oh wait, should I not have said his name?”

“Considering it was classified information, you shouldn’t even know his name,” Steve said, glaring at Stark.

“The kid deserved the heads-up,” Stark said, shrugging. And his lack of remorse provided the spark which finally detonated Steve’s last nerve, a torrent of hot fury exploding through his entire body.

“The _kid_ , exactly,” Steve hissed. _How unbelievably irresponsible do you have to be-_ “He is a _child_ , Stark. How _dare_ you involve him in this-”

“No, no, hey, I’m happy to help out anytime-” the kid insisted miserably from behind them, but the lingering battle-rush had already sent the situation rocketing towards dangerous and Stark was squaring up to Steve like it was their first fight on the Helicarrier all over again.

“He needed the heads-up so he would know to _stay out of it_ ,” the other man snarled.

This time Steve was too far gone to play fair. “Well if that was the plan, why is he _here_?” Steve bit back, muscling right into Stark’s space, looming over him despite the suit’s added bulk. “I’ll tell you why, because he has the _great Tony Stark_ in his ear encouraging him to take bigger risks, giving him a suit so he can fight bigger crime. But what’s your endgame here, Stark? You gonna offer him a spot on the team? Give him a fancy pen so he can sign away his future to someone like Ross? Or did you even bother to _think_ that far ahead?”

Stark stepped back, dark eyes stunned wide, but for once Steve pushed his advantage, stepping forward so Stark was forced to keep retreating. “Was it just too much fun for you to resist, giving him all these responsibilities he’s not ready to handle, then vanishing for months so whenever you bothered to come back you knew he’d be grateful for the tiniest scraps of your attention? But hey, that’s the trademark Tony Stark experience, right? Like that’s your _thing_ , leading people on only to disappoint them later, you ever think that _maybe_ what the kid deserves to know is that no matter how hard he tries you’ll never be capable of anything better-”

Steve broke off, appalled by his own vitriol, by the devastated expression on Stark’s face, all the worse because he’d _seen_ this look on him before. In Siberia, as part of the sick mind-games of a twisted man. But this time, it was _Steve_ who had put it there, alone, and on purpose.

Even as he fumbled for an adequate apology, Steve could see Stark’s hurt drain away, replaced by something vicious, almost feral. _This is it_ , Steve thought numbly. _This will end us. Oh God, it’s really over._ Stark opened his mouth, death and ice in his eyes-

“Uh, guys?” Sometime while Steve was yelling, Sam had landed nearby. “Just got word. Wakanda’s clear. The Mind Stone is secure, but Vision’s injured.”

Stark pinched his eyes closed. Nodded once, curt. “We should head back to the Sanctum.”

 _Right. That was… right._ The end of the world was yet to come.

Spider-Man was visibly shaking, and Steve’s shame threatened to buckle his knees. No kid should see adults fight like that. He would have apologized, but by the time his mouth decided to work, Stark had already taken the kid by the arm and gently pulled him away, murmuring comforting words as they walked.

Sam said nothing, but Steve could feel the concern in his gaze. He ignored it, instead retrieving his shield, wiping the mud off with his sleeve, wiping his sleeve clean on his pants.

“Helluva day,” his friend said eventually.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

They walked back to the Sanctum together, slow and silent as a funeral.

***

Later, much later, Tony was able to piece together the full time-line. How Thor, Loki and the Valkyrie had arrived on Nowhere to find Thanos had gotten there first. How the Mad Titan had fought them, Power and Reality Stones installed on his Gauntlet. How Loki had betrayed Thor once more, this last time for love, handing over the Space Stone in exchange for Thor’s life. How Thor had been forced to watch, helpless, as Thanos had choked his brother to an agonizing death. Only the timely arrival of the Guardians had saved the Valkyrie from suffering the same end. Their intervention had sent Thanos into retreat, but not before he took Gamora prisoner, insisting she pay homage to his success. There, Tony later theorized, he must have gotten word of his disciples’ failed assaults on New York and Wakanda, and decided to handle Earth himself.

Driven to fury by the loss of Loki, Thor traveled from Nowhere to Nidalvallir in search of a weapon worthy of vengeance, accompanied by Rocket and Groot. The Valkyrie and the remaining Guardians set off for Earth as quickly as they could, but the message they sent ahead, warning that Thanos now possessed the Space Stone, arrived ten minutes too late.

***

Three hours after the first attack, Thanos appeared in New York.


	3. Chapter 3

19:53, Sunday 1st July 2018

There was no alert, this time. Only a blue mist, and there he was.

Wilson, out on patrol, happened to spot him. “We got visual-” he managed, then yelled as the big purple alien waved his big golden glove and his wings crumbled into red ash.

Tony, watching from the Sanctum’s rooftop, had leaped into flight before the suit had fully deployed, and managed to catch Wilson three seconds before he smashed into the ground. “Gotcha,” he murmured, swinging the other man to disperse his momentum before releasing him to roll safely along the ground.

“Thanks, man,” he heard in his ear-piece, but Tony didn’t reply.

Across the street the huge alien stood quietly, eyes fixed on Tony’s approach. Overriding Friday’s chatter about power readings and proximity curves, Tony chose to make a dramatic landing halfway between the alien and the Sanctum’s door. He straightened slowly, praying his trembling wouldn’t show through the armor, and found a smirk had appeared on the alien’s massive face.

“Stark,” the alien said, his tone almost affectionate. Familiar.

Tony felt his blood freeze. “You know me?” Despite his galloping heart-rate, his own voice sounded casual, even bored, but he was glad to note Wong and Rogers appearing at his back.

The alien smiled wider, which did nothing to improve his looks. “Six years ago, you destroyed my ship.” He tilted his head. “I liked that ship.”

His words came shaded with such bitter memories, with so many dark endless nights - _dead, cold, empty, alone_ \- yet with a visceral wrench, Tony pushed them away. _Not today._ “You’re Thanos,” he said, knowing but wanting to be sure.

“Correct,” the alien said. “And you know why I’m here.”

“I’m guessing it’s not for the bagels,” Tony said, initiating a deeper proximity scan. If Hope and Scott were present like they should be, they were currently undetectable to his sensors, which was kinda a _problem_ for team work, _fucking Hank Pym-_

“You use humor to buy yourself time,” Thanos observed. He grinned. “Funny, since time is also what _I_ seek.” He raised his left hand, showing off the golden gauntlet he wore. The three Stones he had already collected. Red, purple and… blue.

_Oh._

“Nice bling,” he managed to say, striving for some kind of equilibrium. “I see you met Thor.”

Thanos nodded. “He fought well and bravely,” he said. Again his voice was nearly warm. Approving. “He earned my respect to the end. I will remember him fondly.”

_So Thor is-_

The first wave of shock was almost peaceful, seeming to stretch every second into a century. Tony found himself blissfully aware of every molecule of his surroundings, the leaves on the trees sparkling under the low beams of the day’s last sunlight. In return for peace it seemed such a small thing that he couldn’t quite make himself speak. Then the second wave hit, shame and terror and self-loathing, because he realized why; he had nothing left worth saying.

_Oh, god, Earth is-_

Into the silence, Steve Rogers stepped forward, shield raised. “We will remember him ourselves,” he told Thanos, his voice calm and strong. “Right after we defeat you.”

“Ah, the Captain,” the alien said, an odd note of reverence entering his voice. “Man out of time. I must confess, your story moves me deeply, for I too have suffered the loss of an entire living world. I too have been cast out, left to wander without a home. Therefore to you alone, I will show mercy.”

Thanos gestured to the gauntlet on his arm. “My mission will soon be complete. Allow me to obtain the Time Stone, and I will return you to the past. All I ask is that you stand down from this fight, Captain. Leave this unhappy time to its miserable end. Surrender to the kindness of Thanos, and good fortune will at last be yours.” The alien waited, his enormous chin arrogantly high.

Rogers didn’t answer, and for one horrifying moment, Tony wondered…

Yet the shield never wavered. “I don’t normally hold with crude language,” Rogers said, “but you can kindly go fuck yourself.”

Mingled pride and relief thrilled through Tony, but Thanos hissed in outrage. “Then surrender to _despair_.” And he whipped his arm towards Rogers, the red gem blazing.

Even as Rogers went down with a surprised yelp, Tony was darting forward to draw the alien’s fire, but before he could land a hit, Thanos’ head began to snap back and forth as if from unseen blows. Hope and Scott, Tony realized, the relief flooding through him doubling when Friday was finally able to triangulate their signatures. With the AI’s help, Tony began to weave his attacks in harmony with theirs, working together to beat Thanos back.

Distantly, Tony heard Wilson’s voice over the comms. “Cap, report?”

“I’m fine,” came the annoyed reply; Tony released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Uh, he is _not_ fine,” Wong said a heartbeat later.

 _Dammit_. “Situation?” Tony asked crisply, intercepting a nasty punch meant for Scott’s lower spine.

“He’s… not quite himself.” Wong sounded odd. Worried?

“Get him to the Sanctum,” Tony ordered. It was the last thing he had the breath to say for some time, as from that point on the fight with Thanos got… weird, and frantic, and terrifying, and did he mention weird? Reality morphed and changed, the ground itself rippling like liquid, cars launching themselves into the sky. Tony had to sacrifice a third of his nanobots deflecting several purple blasts from the golden glove before the fleet of drones he’d summoned finally arrived from orbit. Yet with one lazy wave, Thanos had turned each drone into a ginormous fanged butterfly and sent them chasing after Scott and Hope, which was just rude.

Tony felt his heart sinking further as the frenzied minutes wore on. For every step they forced the alien back, he managed to take two towards the Sanctum. Briefly, things looked up when Peter swung in out of nowhere - Tony was gonna _eviscerate_ that kid, he’d _sworn_ he was on his way _home_ \- yet they were all fighting to their limits, every single second treading the edge between victory and disaster.

In the end, Thanos proved too strong, his powers too unpredictable to counter; luck, like hope, was inevitably finite. Four minutes in, Wong caught a flying pebble to the head and was knocked out, which by necessity drew Doctor Strange to the door of the Sanctum. The Doctor seemed to be shielded from the glove’s magic so long as he stayed inside the Sanctum, but seeing his target so close only inflamed Thanos’ aggression. With a roar, the alien sent a spiral of molten concrete to immobilize Tony, who then could do nothing but watch as Peter got kicked right across the street and through a building.

Trapped, Tony fought to break free as Friday screamed a warning that there was no one left between Thanos and Strange, and the Doctor was distracted, his magic the only thing keeping a hovering bus from crushing the injured Wong.

 _This is it,_ Tony thought, his mouth tasting of ash. Even if he broke free of his restraints, he couldn’t make it in time. They were done-

Like hope itself, Rogers charged out from inside the Sanctum, shield raised to strike Thanos. Tony kept struggling. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite-

Thanos grabbed him in mid-air, dangling him by the neck as if it was nothing, Rogers snarling defiance as he tried to swing the over-sized shield-

In a burst of horror, Tony understood; he fired his repulsors recklessly, enough to melt the concrete’s grip, and he _dove_ -

But too late, he was too late, as Thanos drew his arm back and punched Rogers in his unprotected ribs, the sickening crunch audible to everyone on the street. The alien then tossed him aside, Rogers rolling down the steps in a helpless tangle of limbs. Tony was screaming, every part of him was screaming and then he was fighting Thanos one-on-one, beating at him as if he could force the the alien to take it back, as if the alien could _give him back_ -

It was the purest, most savage fight of his life.

Naturally, he lost.

Less than a minute later, Tony found himself slammed into the cracked road, all air knocked from his lungs, dazzling sparks skating across his vision. Thanos was leaning over him, grinning. Unable to sit up, unable to even suck in a breath, Tony dismissed his visor and spat at his smug face, which only provoked the alien to further amusement.

“Even in defeat, you defy the inevitable,” Thanos said. “Your spirit is impressive, Stark. I believe I will remember you fondly. As a reward for your courage, I will not draw unnecessary blood through the mechanisms of armies and war. No, your planet’s balancing will be clean and merciful, in your honor. This is my final gift to you.” Tony stared up at him, still struggling to catch a breath, never mind respond.

“Wow, dude,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up from nearby, startling them both. “Remind me to cross you off my Christmas list.” Tony craned his neck as Thanos swiveled round to face the newcomer. The glowing blonde woman stared back, unimpressed.

Thanos hesitated, then marched towards her, throwing a punch at her face. A punch which the glowing woman casually caught in her glowing hand. “I’m Carol, by the way,” she said, peeking past the nonplussed alien to meet Tony’s gaze. “Nick says hi.”

_Fury._

_That son of a_ bitch-

The air surged back into his lungs in a painful rush, and Tony rolled over, coughing. By the time the dizziness let him stand, Thanos had been hammered into retreat by the glowing woman’s fists, cheered on by a visibly uninjured Peter. Tony watched the alien make his escape through a portal, leaving the shattered street silent and empty.

They’d won.

It almost didn’t matter.

Wilson and Strange were already there but Tony ignored them both, collapsing to his knees when he landed because it was worse, it was even worse than he’d feared. One entire side of Rogers’ chest was misshapen, nearly caved in, and his every breath brought red froth to his lips. He looked so odd and tiny and fragile, skinny limbs neat under the ballooning fabric, his body now drowning in the uniform that only minutes ago had fit like a second skin. But his _face_ …

Tony reached out with trembling fingers. Traced Steve’s cheek. Steve’s hair.

 _You_ , he thought. _It’s… you._

“-can’t wait,” Strange was saying urgently. “Stark, can you immobilize him?”

Tony’s mind kept spinning on the word, marveling at how syllables could fit together so well when Steve’s ribs-

“Tony!” Wilson was gripping his shoulder. “Focus, okay? Steve needs you. Can you help him?” The other man was blurry but he sounded scared.

“I can,” Tony gasped. _Immobilize_ , he thought, meaning and sense flooding back to him. _Make secure, make safe._ “I- I can do that.” Friday had already loaded up a restraint pattern that he could modify. Holding his breath, Tony released the nanobots in a careful spray, then watched as they encased Steve’s body in a hard-shelled cocoon, leaving only his face exposed.

Strange was already on his feet. His hands gestured, a golden portal opened, and Steve’s body floated up and through. With Wilson’s help, Tony followed, the other man shepherding him through the portal into what looked like a janitor’s closet. Another door brought them into a corridor bustling with familiar sounds and smells. _Hospital,_ Tony thought, the word weirdly heavy in his mind.

“Christine!” Strange bellowed, marching straight through the center of the room. A blonde woman in medical scrubs swung around, prepared to be annoyed. Her eyes widened when she saw them, and she immediately dove into action, rushing over to Steve’s side.

Strange reeled off a bunch of medical-sounding jargon that sank right through Tony’s grasp. When the ER staff had safely transferred Steve to a bed, he let Friday recall the nanobots so the doctor - Christine? - could continue her examination. She sounded so smooth and calm, asking Strange further quick questions, her deft hands steady.

Tony backed away, brutally aware of how useless he was, but unable to stop staring, because what if… Wilson took him by the arm, guided him to sit on a bench a short distance from Steve’s cubicle, still close enough to keep his watch. The new woman, Carol, had been standing at a respectful distance with Hope and Scott, but she approached now. She was no longer glowing, and some distant part of Tony wondered if the effect was something she had to turn off or turn on.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said; she sounded sincere, “but Thanos is still a threat. Fury said you have a second team guarding the Mind Stone. We need to warn them, they may be his next target.”

She was right. She was right, but there was a fluorescent glare from the lights that was too loud to let him think so Tony tried closing his eyes but he still couldn’t think with the bright buzz in his ears, the light was ringing all the way through him and it wouldn’t let him _think_ …

Somewhere above his head, Wilson cleared his throat. “I can- I’ll call Nat,” he said. “They should know about…”

About Steve, Tony understood. Wilson had been a medic, had watched men die in the field. Wilson would know what to say. When to fear. How to hope. He would know everything Tony didn’t- couldn’t-

When Wilson and Carol had left, Scott sat down beside Tony despite the many empty chairs. The former thief’s usual ebullience was nowhere to be seen as he slumped forward to stare at the floor. They sat and waited in silence. An endless minute passed, then another, until across the room, there was a outburst of frantic activity. Tony shot to his feet, Scott grabbing his arm to steady him. The blonde doctor was barking orders at her team as they rushed Steve away, out of sight. Strange followed for a short distance, then returned, approaching him and Scott.

“There's too much bleeding, they’re taking him straight up to surgery,” the tall man said crisply, but his hand on Tony’s shoulder was gentle. “Christine Palmer is the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever known. She’ll get him through this.”

Tony tried to nod but had to stop when it made his head swim, his feet seeming very far away.

“Mr Stark?” he heard Peter say behind him.

The horror and remorse came all in a flood. _The kid._ Tony had… he had forgotten to check on him. Had, in fact, forgotten all about him. _Selfish, stupid, wrong…_

Tony swayed, turned. Stared.

Wide-eyed, Peter’s words spilled out faster and faster. “Sorry I kinda disappeared there for a minute Mr Stark but I thought I recognized this place so I went to check outside and I was right, this is the hospital where Aunt May works, you remember her, Mr Stark? Of course you do, but anyway she was meant to be off today but when I called she’d actually come in already to help out in case people panicked and there were injuries with the alert and everything so when I called she was upstairs and she’s on her way down to join us, if that’s okay?”

 _I didn’t even notice he was gone_ , Tony thought. Then he was back on the chair, Strange ordering him to dismiss the suit and breathe slowly as something warm was wrapped around him.

“Shit, is he okay?” Tony heard someone say. Wilson?

“Could be shock,” he heard someone answer. Strange?

Then for a while Tony lost the thread of things, the voices above his head blending into strands of meaningless noise. Later he felt himself lifted, strong bodies on either side helping him stumble forward. And then it was quiet, and he was warm, like he was flying through a summer sky, all of his thoughts drifting apart and away, into the clouds. 

***

02:14, Mon 2nd July 2018

He surfaced slowly to find someone was combing gentle fingers through his hair, humming softly. Like he was a sick child, someone in need of comfort. People didn’t… do that. Not to Tony Stark. He automatically opened his eyes to look for witnesses, ready to tell whoever it was to back the hell off, but instead of a stranger he was stunned to see Peter’s radiant aunt leaning over him.

Her sharp eyes had already caught his peeking, so Tony cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” May echoed, studying his face. Then she backed off, busying herself with an I.V. drip beside the… hospital bed?

Awareness flooded in, bringing scraps of haphazard sensation throughout his aching body. Thanos. The Sanctum.

 _Steve_.

Tony sucked in a breath. “How is he?” he demanded.

May didn’t falter. “Still in surgery,” she said. “It’s been five hours. But they say it’s going well.”

“Is Peter okay?” was his next question, the guilt souring his stomach. _Sorry, sorry, god I’m so sorry._ He would do better, he would try-

“He’s fine. I told him to go eat, and your friends too. They kinda looked like they needed a break.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there today,” Tony told her, his throat tightening. “It’s my fault, May. I’d warned him something big was coming. I wanted him to stay safe. He swore to me he wouldn’t get involved. He _promised_.”

She sighed, moving to the end of the bed and picking up his chart. “And he meant every word, I’m sure,” she said. “Right up until he didn’t.”

There was an exasperated familiarity in her voice that Tony envied. Peter was lucky to have someone who knew him that well. Who would love him anyway. He glanced down to his hand, noting the neatly placed needle, then squinted up at the I.V. stand beside his bed. The label font was too small to read unaided; he tapped his chest but Friday must have started the nanites recharging while he was out. “What’s in the bag?” Tony asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Saline and electrolytes, mostly.” May glanced over at him, eyes inscrutable. “How bad was today, really?”

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Dinosaurs, meet asteroid.” _Fuck_. He’d tried for a casual tone but his voice had shook so he just sounded weak and scared instead. Tony sat up, again checking for witnesses, but it was still just the two of them in the small room.

May had frozen in shock, but with a deep breath she rallied. “You know Peter would never agree to stand by and watch people get hurt if he thinks he can help. And he’s a teenager, Tony, he always thinks he can help.”

“I should never have involved him in Avengers business,” Tony said. “I’m so sorry, he’s just a kid, he shouldn’t have to deal with any of this-”

“That part was never up to you,” May snapped, her eyes suddenly ablaze. “If you’d never approached him, Tony, if you and he had never met, it would just mean that Peter would have spent the last two years trying to help people on his own, with no back-up, no support. Picture today but with no fancy suit to protect him. Imagine Peter walking out to meet your asteroid alone. How do you think _that_ fight would have ended?”

“Don’t,” Tony whispered, aghast at the image.

“Sometimes he terrifies me,” May admitted. “Sometimes, I look at him and I am so scared for his future that I can’t remember how to breathe. But what Peter does, everything he chooses to do, it all flows from the very best part of him. And that means I couldn’t shut Spider-Man down if I tried. I would be destroying exactly what makes Peter’s heart so special-”

She broke off, swallowing back tears. Tony reached out and took her hand, awed by her towering courage, her determination to trust. Like any good parent, her child’s happiness defined her whole world. She had to know that supporting Peter would over the years bring her more heartache than joy, but for better or worse here she was, taking on the challenge anyway. Finding a way to give Peter her fullest attention, her deepest trust. Time and again, her actions proving her love.

_Incapable._

_I forgot him._

He was so, so sorry.

May quickly recovered her usual equilibrium, but now he could see the seams of what was a hard-fought, constructed acceptance. “Neither of us can stop him, Tony,” she told him, her gaze piercing. “But with your help, Peter is safer than he would be alone. So please, just keep doing what you can, where you can. That’s all I ask. That’s all either of us can do.”

Tony didn’t have time to respond, because next thing, the door had opened and Peter had bounced halfway across the room before checking himself in dismay.

“ _Ohshit_ , uh, sorry May, is he still asleep?” the kid hissed in a stage whisper, looking impossibly young in his street clothes.

“No worries, Pete, I’m up,” Tony answered, this time his voice sounding acceptably casual.

A relieved grin lit up Peter’s face. “Oh good! Uh, a nurse just let us know, they finished the surgery and Captain Rogers is being moved to recovery, they had to take out his spleen but they said considering everything, he’s looking really good.”

Tony closed his eyes, his heart lurching painfully in relief. _Thank you, thank god thank everything, Christ…_

“Um, and I brought you a sandwich, Mr Stark, in case you’re hungry,” he heard Peter add. “Sorry if you don’t like falafel, it was the only one left.” Judging by its appearance, that was for good reason, but Tony realized he was hungry enough to eat it anyway.

May intercepted the dubious offering, laying it on a nearby table. “Let’s hold off on that for a minute. I need to ask Tony some questions about how he’s feeling first.”

Tony was mystified. “Uh, why? I feel fine.” Five hours’ sleep was more than he was usually allowed. In fact, he felt pretty good.

May turned to Peter. “Actually, sweetie, I’m getting a headache, can you go grab me a coffee? Hazelnut milk, if they have it.” Once the kid had left them alone, she eyed Tony up and down. “Tony, you have a serious concussion.”

That much was unsurprising. “Eh, comes with the job,” he said breezily.

“Your bloodwork also shows that you are,” May picked up his chart again, “dehydrated, exhausted, borderline malnourished. Your pancreas and heart are overworked, your liver and kidneys are barely functional.”

Tony stared at the wall, trying to school his expression into neutral. “Not a problem. I stopped drinking a while back, another month and I’ll be fine.”

May crossed her arms. “You know that’s not how it works, Tony. Happy told me you were poisoned, that there was permanent damage. You shouldn’t have been drinking at all.”

There was real concern in her voice. Tony felt like clawing it out of her throat. “Maybe you and your boyfriend should just mind your own goddamn business,” he snarled, imagining the two of them discussing his misery, curled up snug and precious in their own cosy lives.

“He’s worried about you,” May countered, her voice sharpening. “I don’t think he ever expected the job at the Compound to mean never seeing you anymore. He thinks you’ll get in trouble without him.” She paused. “And maybe he’s right.”

Tony rolled his head to glare at her. “Are you officially my nurse? As in, you’re at work right now, right?”

May’s cheeks grew heated, but she nodded.

“Great, then you’re fired. Bye.” He closed his eyes, determined to ignore her.

Yet she didn’t leave. “God, you’re such an asshole,” she muttered. “But fine, have it your way. If I’m not your nurse, then I guess I’m just your friend.” And a series of odd rustling noises followed.

Tony opened his eyes reluctantly to find May had appropriated half his sandwich.

“Hey,” he protested, his former anger evaporating as his empty stomach growled in yearning.

She smirked over at him, then nudged the remaining half closer towards him. “Truce?”

Tony sulkily grabbed the sandwich, feeling ridiculous. “Fine, whatever.” They ate together, the silence not exactly comfortable but not quite awkward.

“If you ring the bell, you can get me kicked out,” May told him, once the last awful falafel was vanquished.

“I know,” he said. But he didn’t; instead he trash talked hospital food which somehow turned into May tricking him into promising his attendance at Peter’s celebration dinner. Therefore in the spirit of vengeance, when the kid returned Tony managed to sweet-talk May as his self-appointed friend into letting him have just one blessed sip of her dreadful coffee. Between that and the sandwich, Tony’s mood drastically improved, and by the time his new official nurse took him off the drip, he felt well enough to get out of bed.

The rest of the New York team had apparently been shown to a private waiting room down the hall where they could rest and wait for updates on Steve. Normally Tony would have steered the hell clear, but Peter loudly assumed he’d want to be with his friends in such a difficult time and Tony didn’t have the heart to correct the kid. Despite his best efforts, he staggered once on the way there. Still chattering at full-throttle, Peter caught him before he could fall, the kid’s grip on Tony’s arm deadly strong yet discreet. Tony should have felt mortified at his weakness, but somehow the kid’s easy cheer made it okay.

His arrival in the waiting room was only minimally awkward, given the circumstances. Strange had apparently returned to the Sanctum arm in arm with their new ally, Carol, which was a minor disappointment given the number of questions Tony had for her, or really any glowing woman. Yet Wilson seemed genuinely relieved to see him back on his feet, and Tony was doubly pleased to receive just the usual wary Pym civility from Hope and sunny welcome from Scott.

It could have been much worse; given his lack of real injuries, Tony knew his earlier collapse was both melodramatic and pathetic. Pity from his colleagues would have been humiliating. Wong was also present, face gloomy as ever under a rather fetching head bandage, and the small group soon got Tony up to speed on recent events.

***

Tony had missed another public alert while he was out, but thankfully this time the approaching spaceship was a friendly, sent by the very alive but currently absent Thor. The Valkyrie had informed them of Loki’s death, then explained how Thor had taken a detour but was soon expected to return. The new ship’s crew were a group known as the Guardians of the Galaxy, renowned heroes who had already once thwarted Thanos’ plans to obtain the Power Stone. They’d landed their ship in Wakanda and were ready to assist in the Mind Stone’s defense.

During the first attack, Vision had been injured with some kind of phase disruptor. Healing his body had briefly diverted Shuri’s attention away from the Mind Stone’s extraction, but that project was now back on track and looking hopeful. No one else had suffered significant injuries, so Earth’s defense was not only intact, but with the addition of the Guardians and Carol, had massively improved since the first attack. And once Doctor Palmer got through to Doctor Cho, she would fly in and use the Cradle on Steve, who was soon to be transferred to the ICU and, they kept saying, was doing quite well.

***

The first hints of early summer dawn was already brightening the room. With Steve now stable in recovery, the New York team decided it would be best to go back to the Sanctum and rest up before the next attack. Despite his own lack of fatigue, Tony judged this a good move, and had even made up his mind to leave with them, but right as Wong began opening the portal, Wilson announced his intention to stay behind until Steve woke up.

And somehow, for some reason, the idea of Steve waking up alone made Tony’s insides crumble. His body started trembling, every cell united in a refusal that was going to be really embarrassing to explain, because Tony was suddenly mathematically certain that if he were to leave the hospital right now, Steve would die, or maybe Tony would, or both.

May must have noticed, because she tried to come to his rescue. “Actually, with his concussion Tony should really stay overnight for observation, and he’s already got some sleep. Perhaps he can sit with Captain Rogers until the morning?”

Wilson hesitated, clearly torn. “Uh, that okay with you, Stark? Rest of us are pretty beat.”

It was a sensible idea, except that if Steve woke to find Tony anywhere near him, he’d consider it more a nightmare than a comfort. Yet the team would need to rest before the next attack, and so Tony nodded, aghast to find all of his words had deserted him again. _What is happening-_

May stepped up again, his smooth and professional friend. “We’ll keep you updated if anything changes, of course.”

Wilson still looked doubtful, but just as Tony was sure he was going to refuse, Peter tried and failed to stifle a loud yawn. This detonated a chain of giant sympathetic yawns through the exhausted team, and once Wilson had his face back under control, he shook his head ruefully. “Okay, fine. I’ll be back in the morning, thanks.”

“Sleep well,” May told them all. When they had departed, she ordered a protesting Peter to the nearest couch and dropped a blanket over the sleepy teenager. The kid was snoring before she’d taken a single step away. She smiled down at him, then returned to where Tony stood by the door.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she whispered, her eyes steady on his. “I can sit with Captain Rogers.”

Luckily his words had returned. “Thanks, but it’s okay,” Tony told her. “Might as well be useful.”

May snorted softly, but she motioned to the door, then led him upstairs to the ICU. Doctor Palmer spotted them arriving and showed them to Steve’s room right at the end of the hall.

“It’s small but it’s quiet,” she explained. “And I thought he might prefer some privacy.”

The sight of Steve in the bed hit Tony like a repulsor blast to the gut. The heavy shadows under the man’s eyes were the only real hint his face allowed of the massive trauma he had suffered. It would be so easy to pretend Steve was just sleeping. But beneath the sheets and tubes his body looked… frail. Incomplete. Not _him_. Not _Steve_.

May steered Tony towards the bedside chair, then draped a soft blanket over him before leaving with Doctor Palmer, the two women talking calmly as they walked away. Of course, May worked here, they knew each other. Tony huddled deeper into the blanket. The shaking was back, but he was unable to stop staring. At Steve. Not-Steve. _Who_ is _this?_ The real Steve could make any room look small. He made gravity itself seem optional. The real Steve would never allow himself to be so… diminished…

Only in the face could Tony find any traces of the man he knew. There was Steve’s stubbornness, carved along the jaw; his sudden humor, slipped into the curve of the lips. The more Tony stared, the more he found, familiarity emerging between the lines of the man before him. The hands, yes, those were still Steve’s hands, elegant and deft and strong. The shoulders were not Steve’s shoulders, but still determined and ready and brave. The arms, if they were really Steve’s arms-

God, the warmth he had once felt in those arms-

Panic erupted within him, Tony’s mind seeking refuge in memories of the man he’d always known, endless images of Steve, fighting, laughing, arguing, always effortlessly strong and sure. But to his horror, his memories had _changed_. Where once he had seen only Steve’s arrogance, Tony now found traces of desperation. Underneath Steve’s scorn, he could see hints of anxiety, even insecurity. With growing self-loathing, Tony traced the strange new echoes down through the years, discovering how Steve’s perpetual confidence had so often rung hollow with vulnerability, and doubt, and fear.

It was so _obvious_ , now that he was looking. The man Tony knew, the man he now saw before him, they had always been one and the same. Steve Rogers wasn’t the paragon of pure virtue and easy optimism the world liked to see. No, his essence lay in his fierce hope and reckless heart, but above all, in his constant restless _defiance_ , all adding up to a soul more raw and wild than anything the world would allow. But when the world called for service, Steve answered. Whenever the world demanded a symbol, Steve stepped up. Whatever the cost, whatever the burden. And in six years of working together, Tony had never once heard him complain of what he’d lost-

‘ _I’ve never done this,_ ’ Steve had whispered, blue eyes wide on his. Asking Tony to take care of him. Asking Tony to _see_ -

And Tony had punished him instead.

Nausea struck, hard. Staggering outside, he puked violently into a nearby trash can, heaving until his stomach was empty. A soft-eyed nurse offered him water but he waved her away, unable to handle any kindness right now. Realizing how ludicrous he looked wrapped in his blanket, Tony summoned his sunglasses to hide what he could.

“Boss, you have eighty-seven missed calls-” Friday began; with a dull shiver, Tony muted her, then slid down the wall to wait out the dizziness. His thoughts were getting fuzzy again, the first promise of a headache gathering behind his eyeballs, but he couldn’t rest when he still had a job to do. He could see into Steve’s room from here, well enough to see the man was still unconscious; Tony _knew_ it would be better if he stayed far away. It always was. Yet he could still feel the nurses watching, their well-meaning concern eating through him like acid.

And so, when he could stand, he returned to his post. Tony knew there was no place for him by Steve’s side, but leaving the injured man alone was unthinkable. When the morning came, when the others returned… Then, he’d go. And he’d make sure Steve would never have to look at him again.

Every second until then, Tony would watch over him, because that would keep Steve safe. The plan echoed round and round in his aching head, bringing him comfort, bringing him pain. 

When the morning came, he would leave. Until then, he would pretend. He was only keeping watch.

And Steve was just sleeping.

* * *

[Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019_Cap_Ironman_Big_Bang/works/21607990) by march_hyde


	4. Chapter 4

??:??, Monday 2nd July 2018

The steady beeps and gentle murmurs had infiltrated his dreams, and so for a brief eon, Steve was a spaceship, floating through endless stars.

He dreamed he woke long enough to tell Tony all about it, and that the other man smiled-

***

Steve opened his eyes, screaming, his very bones torn asunder by some unseen monster, but Tony was there again, which was how Steve knew he was still dreaming, was trapped in a nightmare both fluorescent and horrible, machines and tubes curling around him, blank-faced strangers carving him apart and Tony was there, standing in the door, so far away and Steve couldn’t reach, could never _reach_ -

***

Cold. He was… cold. Peaceful. Someone was talking. A woman.

“-still refusing to contact the pilot, they’re saying that because Cho’s plane will land in two hours it doesn’t qualify as an emergency. But her assistant is already on his way to meet her at the airport, once she’s on the ground he will make sure she calls, then a helicopter will bring them straight here.”

“And the transfer?” Someone else. A man.

“Normally I’d say no way, but with Stephen’s help, I believe the risk is manageable. And if this Cradle can really do what you say… I’d really like to see one.”

“Screw that, how would you like to own one?” The man’s voice was familiar. Warm.

_…Tony?_

Steve tried to turn his head, but the cold dark-

***

08:13, Monday 2nd July 2018

Sometime in the early morning, Steve opened his eyes to find himself fully awake. The monstrous pain from his dreams had been reduced to a crushing ache simmering below the surface, the rest of him floating free somewhere far above. He heard himself groan.

His mouth was dry, he noted.

Then he coughed. His throat hurt.

A straw was placed at his lips, and Steve drank, grateful. Then he registered the familiar stench of sterilized illness; with a sickened lurch, his vision cleared, and he saw. Small room, no windows. There were machines, tubes, needles. Beeping.

And Tony, but that somehow seemed less urgent than-

Steve looked down at his body, his arms. Remembered Thanos, the battle. Looked up at Tony, who for some reason was sitting in a chair by his bed, huddled into a blanket. Steve could see something like worry in the man’s dark eyes. Something like pity. A hot, desolate panic bubbled up through him, that Tony should see him so compromised. That after two long years of ignoring Steve’s existence, only now would Tony deign to look at him.

“Why are _you_ here?” he asked, sounding more hostile than he’d intended.

Tony’s whole body twitched; then he nodded, his expression blank. “Wilson went back to the Sanctum to get some rest, but he should be back soon. So I can go, if you-”

Somehow Tony’s offer sparked an equal but opposite terror. “ _No_ ,” Steve blurted out; the denial had launched itself straight from his gut, bypassing all conscious thought. Only by focusing desperately did he manage to avoid embarrassing himself further. “I mean… Tell me what happened with Thanos.”

The other man gave a quick cough to clear his throat. He looked so tired. “Uh, so turns out Fury was holding out on us. Again. This time, it was some kind of glowing super-woman. Her name’s Carol; she’s nice. Came back from her space vacation when Fury called, smashed Thanos halfway to next Christmas before he tapped out.”

“He’ll come back,” Steve murmured, but the shapes of the words were drifting in and out of focus, blurring the urgency of their meaning.

“Wakanda,” he heard Tony agree. “They’re on full alert. Uh, also, Thanos lied. Thor’s alive, and he’s on his way home.”

“That’s… that’s good,” Steve said, but a pleasant, warm lethargy had rippled up through him, and he lost track of his edges again, his awareness lifting above the panic, the anger, floating back towards the stars. “Gooood. Wow, I feel _good_.”

He only realized he’d said that out loud when Tony snorted, almost a laugh. “If I’m reading this machine right you just got your next dose of happy juice, so yeah, that tracks.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve mumbled, the stars showing him the truth, how some wishes were never meant to be granted, how some endings could never be happy… The other man said nothing, but for a moment his eyes were so sad that Steve wanted to- he needed to-

“You’re right,” Tony said. “I’ll go.”

The stars cried out, terrified, the warning jolting him back into the room. “No, _please_ ,” Steve again blurted out without thinking first.

Halfway out of his chair, Tony froze, an indecipherable emotion flickering across his face.

“I just… I really hate hospitals,” Steve covered hastily, feeling the hot rash of humiliation sear his cheeks; he clenched a fist by his side, unseen. “Could you just- Would you mind staying a bit longer?”

The other man sat heavily. “Sure. I mean, technically I’m not allowed to leave yet anyway, so…” He shrugged, as if unaware of how _ominous_ that sounded.

“What? Why?” Steve demanded, his freewheeling emotions now accelerating towards worry.

“Don’t get your sparkle-pants in a twist,” Tony said breezily while rolling his eyes, which meant he was properly injured. “Got my head rattled by some road, saw stars for a bit, which up til that moment I had assumed was just a cartoon thing-”

“Tony,” Steve sighed, tense with concern; then he winced internally, because they weren’t on a first name basis. _Not anymore…_

The other man shook his head. “It’s a mild concussion, Cap. Nothing to write home about.”

Somehow, his former nickname made Steve’s heart ache worse than his ribs, but once more the pain medication was softening his grip on the conversation. “Okay,” he whispered, his eyes drifting shut. 

Yet resting brought him no peace. Far beneath his surface thoughts, he could sense the monstrous pain lying in wait; its temporary absence was not a relief so much as a threat, a murmuring reminder that it would soon wake and rise to swallow him whole. As his pulse increased in dread, Steve heard the machines around him speed up in turn, and he grimaced at their betrayal.

“How bad is it?” he heard Tony ask.

Steve opened his eyes and tried to smile. “Scale of one to jalapeno?”

A brief smile touched Tony’s lips, but his eyes grew serious. “Don’t,” he whispered. “You don’t need to do that, Steve.”

He’d used his name. Tony had- “Do what?” Steve said, breathless, trying to ignore the racing beeps from the surrounding machines

“Your, you know, brave warrior routine.” Tony waved his hand then leaned forward, the… look back in his eyes. The _pity_. “I’m saying you don’t have to pretend,” he said gently. “Not for me.”

Steve frowned, irritation offering him renewed focus. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Wasn’t it?”

And just like that, Steve had bypassed irritation and barrel-rolled into full-blown rage amid a rising flurry of beeps. “No, I was- What the hell, Tony? You think I’m out here _pretending_ all the time? That I’m just some fake trying to, I don’t know, manipulate everybody?”

The other man reared back, aghast. “God, no, that’s not what I-”

“So what, you see me without the serum for one minute and you’re already thinking wow, poor tiny Steve, it’s cute how he tries to be brave but now I know how he’s so pathetic really-”

Tony turned back from where he’d been studying the galloping machines. “Wait, what? Of course you’re brave, no one could possibly-”

Steve was seething beyond sense, giddy with the eruption of long-dormant resentments. “-because I may be back to useless but I don’t need your goddamn _pity_ , Stark-”

“Christ, Rogers, could you just shut up and let me _talk_!” the other man yelled, leaping to his feet. But to Steve’s horror, Tony wavered as if he would fall, only a quick grab at the chair saving his balance. Too late; instinctively, Steve had tried to sit up, to go to him, but the first slight motion summoned the shrieking agony in his chest, the reality of his injuries smashing him flat.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Steve hissed, nearly gagging from the pain.

Tony looked horrified, his anger evaporating instantly. “Steve? What can I do?”

“I’m- I’m okay,” he mumbled, but then he really did throw up, just enough to ruin his bedsheets. _Sorry, Ma._ “I just shouldn’t have- sorry.” He couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, again and again, and once more when the two nurses entered. They hastily injected Steve with something, and the rampaging pain diffused into a cloud of green sparks that floated away into an endless sky above him. There they are, Steve thought, pleased. His stars. They were cool and serene, strong and steady.

Somewhere, he could hear a woman talking. She sounded worried, so Steve forced his eyes to open. Tony had backed away until he was standing by the wall. As far away as he could get. A dark-haired woman had her hand on his arm, and Tony was shaking his head.

“I should go,” he heard Tony say, and the dread woke again, ice and darkness, no stars, no summer. _No, no, no-_

“Don’t go,” Steve whispered. “Please, Tony, don’t go, it’s cold…”

“-did he say he’s cold?”

“-temperature is slightly elevated, we need to-”

Despite the urgency in the chatter around him, Steve had drifted too far out to keep track of concern. He lay still, not resisting, as gentle but efficient hands changed his sheets, replaced his pillow, smoothed his hair. As he had done for her, badly, at the end. As she had done for him so patiently, countless times before. _Sorry…_ Eventually, they left him clean and soft, his heart beating quiet and slow.

In the silence beyond the machines, Steve could easily follow the soft tread of steps returning to his side; with a rustle of fabric, he felt something soft settle over him. The blanket was still warm and smelled of motor oil and cinnamon. _Tony._ He heard the other man sit back down, heard him draw in a low shaky breath. _Sorry,_ Steve thought.

His thoughts had cooled enough to let him consider the whole situation. It really was unfair of him to ask Tony to sit with him like this. Steve remembered his own ordeal all too well; how the empty hours would stretch on and on, the inescapable fear settling into his bones. The resentment he’d felt, watching his mother sink away into her pain, her silence offering no comfort. No hope. _She left before the end_ , he thought, remembering the ache. The betrayal. _She gave up, she left me._

“Who?” Tony asked.

He must have been speaking out loud; Steve would have felt embarrassed but his memories had already flowed on, transporting him back to battlefield screams, the tang of blood in the air. “Most of them begged,” he murmured. “They fought. But there were a few… they found a way to let go. Find peace.” _The stars came and took them away_ , Steve realized. He took a breath, heard a faint rattle in his lungs. “They took her away, so maybe…”

Yet he never reached the end of his sentence; a blonde woman wearing a plastic visor burst into the room, a phone clutched between her shoulder and her ear. She tossed a similar visor to an equally confused Tony. “Put that on,” she ordered, then turned to Steve in the bed. “Hi, Captain Rogers, I’m Doctor Palmer. I’m sorry for the rush, but on Doctor Cho’s advice we are going to move you to isolation immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, dark eyes huge behind the plastic visor.

Instead of explaining, Dr Palmer tossed him the phone and waved him out of the room so she could finish her work on Steve’s array of machines. Tony lingered near the doorway, and Steve watched him listen to whoever was on the phone as two masked nurses started swapping his bed’s standard fabric curtains for four large plastic sheets.

Whatever he was hearing, Tony looked… scared.

“He’s talking to Dr Cho,” Dr Palmer explained. “Her plane just landed so we finally got to speak with her. She’s raised some interesting concerns about your immune system’s previous dependence on the serum, so as a precaution we’re just gonna move you to isolation and minimize any unnecessary exposures until we can run some tests, okay?”

She sounded calm, but Tony looked scared, and Steve felt the stars murmur a warning, cold dread seeping through his insides. “But Tony?” he asked desperately. “What about Tony?”

The blonde doctor eyed the increased beeping of the machines. “Tell you what, Captain Rogers,” she said. “Give us twenty minutes and he’ll be right back to sit with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve repeated, his pulse slowing again, but Tony looked scared, staring back at him through the doorway, and Steve was trapped in a nightmare again with screeching pain rising in his chest and all he had wanted ever was to reach out and now-

With a cool swish, the masked nurses slid the last sheet into position, Steve’s world now reduced to a tiny plastic cell. He lay flat, numb, his breathing shaky.

Dr Palmer leaned over him. “The transfer can be stressful so I’m going to give you something to help you stay calm. Is that okay, Captain Rogers?” Nice. She was nice, to ask first. He gave a quick nod, and a few seconds later, he felt his fear dissipate.

After unhooking his machines, they rolled him out of the room, the blurred corridors sliding by in a maze of endless ceilings.

The isolation room was anonymous and dull, all ugly lines and blank gray surfaces. Transferred to a steel gurney, Steve made himself hold still as the four nurses cheerfully but thoroughly wiped him down with some foul-smelling liquid. After, they moved him to the new bed and hooked him up to the new machines. As they worked around him, Steve counted down the minutes by the beeps of his new machines, the sedation remixing his fear into a whirling drowsiness.

When Dr Palmer returned, she pointed him towards the window to the empty room next door where Tony would soon appear. Steve tried his best to keep watch, but eventually, dazed and lonely, his mind drifted away to a nameless place even the stars could not reach.

There, time passed oddly, everything seeming to jumble together out of sequence. In a kaleidoscope of fractured moments, Steve talked to Tony, then to Peggy; he watched Sam and Tony glare at each other. Then Sam was at the window alone, looking worried, but somewhere in between the pain woke, obliterating him again; Steve felt his mind turn inside out, heard himself screaming, and then Tony was back behind the glass and promising he wouldn’t leave again but Steve couldn’t _breathe_ , he _couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t_ -

***

“-sorry to wake you, Steve,” someone told him from far away, and something sharp pinched his hand.

“Mrrow,” he growled, and opened his eyes. Tony was standing by the window, the dark-haired woman again at his side.

Beside the bed, Helen Cho gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Just one more,” she said, her quick hands already fitting another blood vial to the freshly placed needle in his hand. Seconds later, her work was done, and she stepped back to a friendlier distance. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’ve been better,” Steve admitted. “How long was I-?” His voice failed and he coughed to clear his throat; this triggered a full hacking spasm which should have set his entire torso ablaze in agony, but instead Steve felt just an odd straining pressure across his chest.

“You’ve been in and out for the past few hours,” Helen told him, gently pressing a full oxygen mask over his face. She waited until his coughing fully eased, then pressed her gloved hands across his chest briefly, just above his surgical dressings. “Any pain here?” When he shook his head, she smiled. “Good. So, Steve, I have good news and bad news for you. The bad news is that a couple of the medications you were on, specifically the painkillers, were making it very difficult for you to breathe. The extra stress on your lungs was then aggravating your other injuries which in turn made your breathing worse. Dr Palmer and I had to get a bit creative to try and break the loop.”

Steve pushed aside the oxygen mask, as ever loathing the taste of canned air. As a kid, he’d been on the wrong end of medical creativity too many times to count. “What…?”

“We decided to give you an epidural to control your pain,” Helen explained. “That means we put medication in your spine that will block the pain signals reaching the brain. You will feel numb everywhere below your arms, but don’t worry, the effect is only temporary, and you should find it much more comfortable to breathe from now on. Can you lift your arms for me?”

Steve managed to move each arm in turn, though not far, and then yelped as Helen pinched each of his hands with no warning, hard, right in the fleshy part between thumb and forefinger. His loud complaint seemed to satisfy Helen, despite her smoothly offered apologies. No doubt both the pinch and the surprise were tools of great medical significance, but the pain stung less than the underlying insult, that he could have done nothing to stop her.

 _Fucking doctors…_ The toll of protesting sent Steve sinking back into his pillows, trying to resist the sudden bone-weary urge to go back to sleep. Physically, he felt exhausted, but for the first time since the surgery, his mind felt clear, its usual sharpness emerging from under a thinning layer of residual fogginess, and he’d slept through far too much already.

Helen had turned towards the glass window, to the silent audience Steve’s sharp mind had been carefully avoiding. “I will run these tests myself, Nurse Parker, if you could perhaps show me the way back to the lab?”

“Of course,” the dark-haired woman said. But she gave Tony a hug before leaving. A hug he returned. When the two women had left, Tony pushed a chair close to his side of the glass and sat down.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, his words still a little foggy. “You made a friend.”

For a second, Tony looked confused, then he snorted a laugh. “Oh, you mean- no, that’s May Parker. Peter’s aunt. Pretty sure she hates me, really.”

“Ohhh... Wow. She’s pretty,” Steve heard himself say. Maybe he was a lot foggy.

“Yeah, well, hot brunettes, more your thing than mine,” Tony said, then froze, eyes darting to his face then away.

Too smudged to share the awkwardness, Steve just smiled. “Guess so.”

Tony said nothing; instead, the other man pulled out his phone and commenced tapping busily, the silence stretching into a chasm between them. Steve quietly tried to distract himself, first by examining the gray dullness of the isolation room, then by mentally adding a whole suite of aesthetic improvements. Yet it was becoming harder and harder to deny his own exhaustion, to keep himself awake, safely beyond reach of the starless void.

Eventually he must have succumbed, because the next time Steve opened his eyes, Tony was slumped in the chair, phone nowhere to be seen. Awake, but… still. That was wrong. Tony was never still. He was… freedom and sunshine and fire. _He’s so sad_ , Steve thought. _I make him so sad_ , he thought right after, the truth glittering cold and precise as starlight.

“Dammit,” he muttered, then heard a thump; he looked back to find Tony had shot to his feet.

“Is the pain back?” the other man asked, hands fidgeting helplessly at the air. “Should I call someone?

“No, sorry, I’m fine, it’s fine,” Steve said quickly. “I just… I fell asleep, and…”

Tony stared at him. “…and?”

“I don’t want to?” he finished, mortified at his lack of a better answer. Yet Tony didn’t seem to notice; the other man let out a slow breath, sitting down slowly. Only then did Steve notice the fresh lines of tension etched into Tony’s face. “Are _you_ okay?” he asked.

Tony shot him a puzzled glance. “What? I’m fine, why?”

“I just…” And just like that, Steve was hit with an errant flash of recent memory of Tony pressed against the glass, all dark eyes and promises. “I don’t…” Steve had been asking for… _Oh god, what the hell did I say?_ Yet despite his best efforts, the rest of the memory eluded his grasp. Steve knew if he asked for specifics, Tony would tell him, but unable to stomach such humiliation, he scrambled for safer territory. “Uh, was Sam here earlier?”

The other man winced visibly, another bad sign of his exhaustion. “Uh, yeah. He left again for the Sanctum, but I could call, get him back here?”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said. “I mean, if you don’t mind staying?” Because maybe Tony didn’t want to be here. Maybe Tony didn’t want to be sad.

Tony’s gaze dropped to his phone, then slid away. “Trust me, Rogers,” he said. “Nowhere I’d rather be.” His words sounded sincere, but that didn’t mean much. Tony could be kind when it mattered. He could also lie better than anyone Steve had ever known. Yet either way, Steve didn’t have the energy to argue. The exhaustion had been growing within him, hour by hour, and this latest doze hadn’t made a dent.

“How long was I out, anyway?” he asked.

“Barely twenty,” Tony answered. “It’s not even noon yet.” Steve just nodded. “Everyone sends their regards,” the other man went on, fidgeting with his sleeve. “And Nat reported in again. The whole planet’s on high alert but so far, no sign of activity. And, uh, Barnes left a message. He said, ‘please tell Stevie to remember the Mrs Temper incident’.”

Steve snorted softly, which elicited an odd sensation from his numbed ribs. “Jeez, you fall out of bed _one_ time…”

“Well, now, that kinda sounds like a good story,” Tony said, his dark eyes crinkling into a genuine smile.

“It’s a stupid story,” Steve said sourly. “Her stupid cat tried to steal my chicken, I gave myself a concussion chasing it, the end.” But when he looked up, Tony was trying and failing to smother his laughter, and Steve thought maybe the story wasn’t so bad after all.

“Did you at least save the chicken?” Tony asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Partially,” Steve admitted; the other man dissolved once more into giggles that Steve had to work hard not to enjoy.

“Well, you were right,” Tony managed to say eventually. “As stories go, that sucks.”

“More your thing than mine,” Steve said, then sighed. He really was so tired. “Tony, do you think- could you maybe-”

The other man sobered up instantly. “What do you need, Cap?”

“Could you-” - _tell me a story_ , Steve thought - “-just talk to me?” he asked instead.

“About what?” Tony asked, frowning as if chattering wasn’t his favorite hobby.

“Anything. Everything. Books, movies. Things you’ve seen on vacation, stuff you’re currently working on, whatever.”

“Wow, you’re that bored?” Tony said, pulling a face.

“I just like when you talk,” Steve said, then closed his eyes. Even through his weariness, he felt the blush rise in his cheeks, a weakness he blamed on his impaired state.

Yet Tony chose not to comment; instead he began to speak, low and soothing, rattling off facts about the space network, thoughts about his suit, his myriad ideas about how to find the lost Soul Stone. Nothing really personal, Steve noticed, but he couldn’t blame Tony for his reserve considering Steve’s own betrayal had helped to shatter that line of communication forever. He lay back and closed his eyes, concentrating on the lilt of Tony’s chatter; of course, sleep soon came calling, but this time Steve resisted. He’d gone two long years without the sound of Tony’s voice. He could sleep later.

At the unexpected sound of the glass door sliding open, Steve’s eyes flew open, the surrounding machines betraying his shock. A painfully young man approached his bed and blinked down at him through a plastic face visor, a cheerful smile pinned across his face. _Ugh, what now._

“Hi, Captain Rogers, it’s Doctor Lewis,” he said brightly. “We haven’t actually met before but I work with Doctor Cho, she sent me down to get just a couple more samples from you. Won’t take a minute, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Steve murmured, opting not to watch as the doctor started fiddling with the needle in his hand.

“And how are you, Mr Stark?” Dr Lewis said, extending his smile towards the window. “Arm doing okay?”

 _…what_ , Steve thought.

Tony’s voice sounded… odd. “Let’s just focus on Steve-”

“That last break was pretty nasty, even for you. Honestly, I don’t know what you Avengers are trying to do to each other in these training sessions but maybe y’all should take it down a notch,” Dr Lewis went on.

The doctor’s back was turned so he didn’t see. But Steve saw. The horrified tension in Tony’s whole body. The way Tony’s expression slipped, for one haunting moment, into pure panic.

Tony, who hadn’t trained with the Avengers in two years.

“What break?” Steve asked, a faint hideous buzz starting in his ears.

“Uh, the twist fracture from yesterday? Like I said, it was a bad one, took me three hours just to set the bone.”

Yesterday, Tony had been five hours late. Steve had yelled at him for it.

“And this has happened before?” Steve asked again. _How? How could this possibly… Tony would never allow…_

Dr Lewis finally seemed to register something was wrong, his gaze sliding towards Tony, but the other man had his face firmly back under control. “Uh… well yeah, but I assumed Mr Stark would have- did he not report his injuries?”

“Eh, paperwork. So boring,” Tony said breezily, slouching in his chair. “Don’t pout, Cap. I’m fine.” He was almost convincing, even to Steve.

The young doctor looked deeply uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry, Mr Stark, but I really thought-”

“Easy, Doc,” Tony drawled, eyes narrowed in warning. “You’re not in trouble. But Steve’s the only patient you need to worry about today.”

Dr Lewis finished taking the second sample and left after a significantly more subdued rounds of goodbyes.

Silence stretched in his wake, punctuated by the cold beat of Steve’s pounding heart.

“Tony-” Steve started softly, but the other man flinched away as if he’d yelled.

“Don’t, Steve. Please. Whatever you’re thinking, I’m fine, just- just let it go.”

Steve studied the other man, still hoping for a sign he was wrong, but in his heart he felt the truth, could trace its awful shape down through his memories of the past two years, in the way Tony was trying to hide his face, even now. He knew he had no right to the answer, but Steve had to ask. “He hurts you?”

“ _Christ_ ,” Tony choked out, leaping to his feet as if to flee the room. But instead he turned his back to the window, wrapping his arms around himself as if he couldn’t stand upright alone.

And he didn’t deny it.

_But how…?_

“Does anybody know, Tony?” Steve asked, when he could breathe again. “Do you have someone you can talk to-” Tony shook his head, once, still with his back turned, and Steve ached with the misery etched into his every line. “Then can you talk to me?” he whispered. “Please?” Steve held his breath, numb with hope.

But when Tony turned back, there was a trembling smirk across his face. “Talk to _you_?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt. “Why the fuck would I ever do that, Rogers? So you can kick me off the team completely? _Fuck_ you.”

“What? That’s not- Tony, I’ve _never_ wanted you off the team,” Steve said, thrown by the other man’s sudden aggression.

“Yeah right,” Tony spat. “You’ve been trying to freeze me out for _years_ , Rogers, don’t pretend otherwise. And I gotta say, you’ve got it down to a tee. Playing the perfect noble leader in public so I’m just some fuck-up in comparison. Poisoning everyone against me behind my back, so now whenever I walk into a room, half the team walk out. Well, fine. What-the-fuck-ever. You want the Avengers? Let’s make it official. They’re all yours. Fuck every last one of you, I’m done.”

Steve sank back, at a loss for how to respond, because absolutely none of what Tony had just said was true.

_…right?_

As far as Steve could tell, the only people who knew about Siberia were those who’d been there. In all their dealings since, T’Challa had never mentioned it. Bucky would have known to be discreet, and Zemo was locked away, probably delighted at how well his plan had succeeded. At first, Steve hadn’t said anything because he’d figured Tony would want to disclose Steve’s betrayal himself. As time went by and no one, not even Rhodey, seemed to know, Steve had felt increasingly guilty, but if Tony truly didn’t want to talk about it, Steve had to respect his decision.

But if Tony thought Steve had stayed quiet only to make Tony look bad… 

If this was how Tony really felt about these past two years…

“I never meant to- to freeze you out, Tony,” he said, selecting his words carefully. “I thought you stayed away because you didn’t want to work with me. I only accepted it because I thought it was your choice. But I give you my word, none of us want you off the team. If anything, it’s the opposite.” He hesitated. “We miss you.”

“Don’t,” Tony whispered; his anger cracked away to show such sadness underneath, such hurt, that it took every scrap of willpower Steve possessed to keep from sitting up and going to him. Instead he could only watch as Tony dropped heavily into his chair, scrubbing at his face. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“It’s the truth, Tony,” Steve insisted. “And you can come back to us whenever you want. Ask us for anything you need. We’re still on your team, no matter what, I promise.” 

The other man’s hands were shaking. “It’s not that simple, Cap, it’s not- I can’t-” He eyed the door as if he was about to run. 

“Okay, I get it, I believe you,” Steve said desperately. “But please, Tony, just… can you talk to me?” Tony shook his head, pressing his lips together, but this time Steve was determined to wait out the silence; eventually the other man sighed in defeat.

“He wasn’t that bad, at first,” he whispered. “I didn’t really… It all felt so…” He broke off, shaking his head. “It was too hard to explain. Then he started getting worse, but it was too hard to talk about. He slipped up a few times, but people just see what they want to see.”

“You mean someone saw him hurt you?” Steve was horrified. “Why wouldn’t they do something?”

“Uh, because it’s me?” Tony raised one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “Half the global media wants to jerk off on how I’m a spoiled rich brat with a god complex, while apparently half the damn Internet needs to believe that I’m some indestructible robot messiah just so they can get through their day. I start crying victim, they’d probably all demand a refund.” His lips twisted in a failed smirk. “Wouldn’t exactly be the trademark Tony Stark experience.”

The phrase echoed shamefully in Steve’s ears. “I should never have said those things to you, Tony,” he said quietly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Eh,” Tony said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I hope you know I don’t believe what I said,” Steve said. “I was just so angry at you, and- and sad, and when I lost it, I went way too far. What I said yesterday was cruel and untrue, and you didn’t deserve any of it. ”

“I don’t know, Steve,” the other man said softly. His eyes were uncertain behind the glass. Haunted. “Sounded pretty accurate to me.”

Steve raised his head, all the better to glare at him. “Bullshit,” he said fiercely. “I said that stuff to hurt you because sometimes I’m an asshole. And that’s the real goddamn truth.”

Tony gave him a serious look, slightly misty-eyed. “Cap, wow. I mean, language.” Then he smirked, but somehow that made Steve panic because he had to help Tony, he had to protect him but he couldn’t tell if the other man believed him or whether Tony was just hiding his pain again and Steve had no way of _knowing_ -

With a rasping swish, the glass door slid open and Helen Cho stepped into the isolation room, face sombre behind her visor. “Captain Rogers,” she said, bad news ringing through her voice. “Steve.”

A nameless fear flashed through him, taut and cold. He glanced back at Tony to find the other man staring at Helen, his face utterly blank.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I ran the tests myself, three times. Your immune system has been dormant since the serum was administered in the 1940s. Unfortunately, that means your current immune response is nonexistent. Your body is just not able to handle the modern era without the serum’s assistance.”

The exhaustion. Steve had assumed it was normal.

He’d assumed he was healing.

When Steve failed to react, Tony cleared his throat. “So you’re saying he’ll have to stay in isolation indefinitely?”

Helen took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The tests showed significant exposure. An infection has already taken hold, and unfortunately, it is progressing rapidly.”

“Then give him antibiotics,” Tony snapped, leaping to his feet. “He needs treatment, medication, he-” His face crumpled. “Don’t just stand there, Helen, _do_ something.”

“We’ve gone through every option,” she said, her eyes full with bitter understanding. “Tested every possibility. Dr Lewis and Dr Palmer are still searching for anything that may help. But medical interventions can only help the immune system, not replace it entirely. I’m so sorry, Steve. We can keep you comfortable, but… there’s nothing more we can do.”

Steve watched Tony flinch away, his dark eyes wild with denial. “Then we need to replace the serum, he needs… Bruce is back, he’ll figure it out, and Shuri, we can get them here, get him the serum and then he’ll be _fine_ -” His voice failed when Helen shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Tony glared as if offended by her pessimism, but Helen held firm. “That will take time, and…”

“How long do I have?” Steve heard himself ask, his voice cold and flat.

“Hours,” Helen said with all the harsh kindness of her profession, leaving no room for false hope. “With aggressive treatment, maybe a day.”

With a soft moan, Tony collapsed back into his chair, hands covering his face. Seeing his distress, Steve had to blink away bitter tears. All he’d wanted was to protect Tony, now he’d only hurt him more.

And Steve wouldn’t have time to help him. He couldn’t help anyone now.

The exhaustion would spread. The cold would take him.

And then he would die.

His breath shuddered once, then his chest tightened, and Steve recognized the once-familiar signs of an asthma attack, the air itself becoming his enemy, panic and rage and sorrow charging in behind. He gasped harder, hearing himself wheeze, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t- he couldn’t-

There was a mask over his face, and Helen’s soft voice was telling him to inhale slowly, to relax, count to four. Steve opened his eyes, suddenly greedy for every moment he could reach, every sight he could savor. But he couldn’t see… “Tony?” he tried to say, barely recognizing his own voice.

“Right here,” he heard, and Tony was there, by the glass. He hadn’t seemed this close before, he hadn’t… Steve gazed up at him, his chest heaving with wishes-

“-not improving,” Helen was saying, and Steve saw Dr Palmer was hovering behind her, reading the machines. _When did she…?_ “Captain Rogers, you need to keep the mask on-”

But Steve couldn’t bear it, the mask blocking his face, the fake air, he couldn’t _breathe_ , had to claw his way free, break the surface, _reach dammit he’s right there-_

Something warm and terrible breathed through him like a sigh, and Steve felt his eyes roll closed, felt the exhaustion lying in wait rise to pull him under.

Then he was cold.

And then he was nothing.

***

12.15, Monday 2nd July 2018

Once Steve’s sedative kicked in, the full impossible weight of Tony’s anguish broke through, annihilating his earlier promises.

He had to get _out_ of there.

Ignoring all the worried questions, Tony fled, needing to feel actual air on his face, needing to _breathe_. He staggered out of the isolation suite, ignoring the startled concern of the nurses, searching blindly until he found a small, empty room, away from the eyes, far away from the sorry excuse he had for a life.

When he was alone, when it was safe, Tony sank to the floor, and he cried. Violent sobs erupted in great heaving gasps, the cries of a child wretched with rage because it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t _fair_. A child, begging aloud but with nobody to hear. _Steve, Steve, I’m so sorry, please, I’ll be good just please don’t take him, please-_

For what seemed an eternity, Tony rocked helplessly back and forth, caught in endless waves of misery, the coming loss seeming to swallow up everything good that ever was, that could ever be, leaving only a berserk desperation for the pain to just _stop_ , and maybe Thanos was right, maybe life wasn’t worth saving, better to let the end come so all of this could be _over_ -

 _Steve would hate you for this_ , a familiar sneering voice told him, inspiring such a deep flash of self-loathing that his whole body shuddered to a halt mid-sob. _If he ever found out you were such a fucking coward, he’d be so ashamed… He begged you to stay but you ran. He’s in there dying and you_ ran _, as you always do whenever things get hard, that’s what you do, that’s all you do..._

Tony sagged against the door, feeling hollow, echoing with horror at all the failures he had wrought. _Disappointment_. Every time. Even though he’d tried and _tried_ …

A soft knock behind him shocked him out of his churning thoughts. “Um… Mr Stark?”

Peter. In a blast of pure panic, Tony considered smashing out a window to escape. He could deploy the suit before he hit the ground. _Or not_ , a colder, deeper voice whispered, and for one giddy moment, Tony imagined…

“Mr Stark, are you okay?”

But Peter would hear the glass break. He would be the one to rush in, and look down, and see-

_Incapable-_

Tony scrambled for the nearby trash can and retched hard, his stomach too empty to produce anything more than bile. He spat, once, twice. Then he took a deep breath. “I’m alright, Pete. You can come in if you want.”

The door opened, and a hesitant face peeked in. “You sure?”

Tony was the least sure of anything he’d ever been in his life. “Yeah, why not,” he said heavily. He was aware he must look pathetic, still hugging the small trashcan. Usually in these situations he’d try to look outrageously casual to compensate, but his face wasn’t cooperating right now, and, well. _Why not look a mess if it’s the truth?_

Peter closed the door and sat shyly on the floor beside him. “Sorry if you wanted to be alone, but Aunt May said the Captain is really sick,” he said words spilling out all in a rush. “She said he’s comfortable, but they all look so sad. It’s… it’s bad, right?”

“He has an infection,” Tony said, the words tight in his throat. “And without the serum, his body can’t fight it.”

“But with the serum, he’d have a chance?” Peter asked eagerly.

His optimism was exhausting. “Making more would take weeks, maybe months,” Tony explained gently. “He doesn’t have that kind of time.” Steve didn’t have any kind of time.

“Couldn’t you ask Doctor Strange to give him some?” Tony looked up. Blinked. Peter’s voice faltered slightly under his stare. “I just- I mean- you said before he had something called the Time Stone, so maybe there’s some way he could help?”

“Holy shit,” Tony breathed, because he hadn’t thought of that, none of them had _thought_ of that, maybe there was still hope, maybe it _wasn’t_ over-

He pounced on Peter, swamping him in a giant hug. “Holy _shit_ , thank you, kid, Peter, thank you, holy shit, you are an actual _genius_ -”

Peter grinned back at him, clearly overwhelmed by either Tony’s words or the hug, but Tony had no time to figure out which. He tapped his chest and summoned his visor display. “Friday? Get me Sam, right now.”

***

Events moved quickly after that. While Peter went to find his aunt and the three doctors, Tony reached Strange, who opened a portal so the whole team could confer. Tony had just brought them up to speed on Steve’s condition when Peter and Steve’s medical team returned. 

After Strange asked the doctors about a billion rapid-fire questions, he’d conferred with Wong before confirming that yes, he believed he could help. Using the Time Stone, there should be a way to place Steve into a timeless state, giving Tony and the others time to recreate the serum. 

Strange would have to meditate deeply upon the process first, but he promised that upon his return, he would know the best way to help save Steve’s life.

***

The return of hope was a rush beyond anything Tony could have dreamed. It also made his knees buckle, and only Peter’s quick grab had kept him from hitting the floor.

After a quick examination, it transpired his blood sugar was dangerously low, and the medical staff refused to let him back near Steve until he ate something. Since Steve was still unconscious, Tony had reluctantly surrendered to their demands. May brought him to a quiet staff canteen where she made sure no one bothered him. She also insisted on supervising his every bite, which proved to be something of an ordeal until Peter joined them partway through the meal. The kid swore he was just there to keep them company but he greedily devoured every morsel Tony managed to sneak to him under May’s notice. When Tony finally realized May had been sneaking her own food onto Tony’s plate in turn, Peter laughed so hard he nearly choked. Between the food and the teasing, for a few minutes Tony felt pretty good.

He’d just started work on the mandatory pudding when the alarms began.

“Proximity alert, boss,” Friday announced in his forgotten ear-piece. “Seventeen ships, no approach detected. There is a 99% probability the Tesseract was involved.”

Thanos.

 _Not now_ , he thought numbly, dropping his spoon. _No, please, not yet._

“All ships are approaching Wakanda,” Friday said. As predicted. Thanos was going for the Mind Stone, but this time he would take no chances. He would throw everything he had at them, try to overwhelm the Wakandan team’s defenses.

 _Seventeen_ ships.

The hospital staff were well drilled; everyone in the small canteen calmly dispersed, though not without a few confused glances in his direction. Their confusion should have mattered, but Tony couldn’t seem to feel anything. He just sat, staring at nothing, thoughts sparking wild as a damaged circuit. He was aware of May and Peter exchanging worried glances over his bowed head, but somehow that didn’t matter either.

A portal opened in the freshly deserted room and Strange emerged, his cape set to full haughtiness. “I’m taking the Time Stone to Wakanda,” he announced curtly. “We must hope Thanos will focus his attack there, or he could destroy half the Earth.” He hesitated. “I promise I will see to your friend on my return.”

Tony nodded, because there was nothing else to do. The wizard frowned, studying him.

Behind him, Wilson called through the portal. “You ready to go, Stark?”

Tony said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

Strange’s cape twitched. “He’s not coming,” the Doctor said.

“ _What_?” Wilson sounded outraged. Even Peter was staring at him, looking appalled. _Disappointed_.

Tony stared at his spoon. He hadn’t finished his pudding.

“Stark.” Wilson stepped through the portal, then hesitated. “Tony. I know you promised Steve you wouldn’t leave, but you know he wasn’t in his right mind, we’re gonna need all hands on deck in Wakanda, Steve will understand-”

He felt May Parker’s arm wrap across his shoulders. “Tony is staying here,” she said; she sounded pretty sure, so Tony believed her.

Wilson turned to Strange, who shrugged. “He has suffered a nasty concussion,” the Doctor pointed out. “Clearly he’s in no shape to fight.” Slowly, Wilson nodded, his mouth set unhappily.

Across the table, Peter stirred. “Mr Stark is injured, he shouldn’t go.” He stood, shoulders square. “But I will.”

At his side, May grunted like she’d been gut-punched; Tony just peered up at the kid, a vague part of him screaming in protest but unable to find the words to match.

“Peter,” May whispered, and Tony felt a distant blast of relief, that she could be the one to talk the kid out of this madness.

“Are you sure?” she asked instead, and now Tony was staring at her, at the loving acceptance stitched across her face, a patchwork of worry and courage, and pain, and trust, and…

Tony knew the kid’s answer before he spoke. “I can help, Aunt May. I want to go.”

She breathed in and out, slow. “Then you should.”

And some final shred of fighting instinct rallied in Tony, because he knew she was right. They couldn’t stop Peter helping. It was the very best part of him, just like she’d said.

But maybe Tony could help him stay safe. “Strange, could you open a portal to the Compound?” he asked, his voice sounding odd in his own ears. The Doctor raised an eyebrow but complied with a lazy wave. “Friday, unlock 17-A.”

Short seconds later, a small bundle landed neatly at Peter’s feet, the new armor unfolding to encase the stunned teenager in the best protection Tony could manage. While Peter danced around in glee, nearly incoherent with excitement, May clutched painfully at Tony’s arm. “Wow, Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!” the kid crowed.

He knew Peter wouldn’t turn seventeen for another month, but… “Happy birthday, kid,” Tony whispered softly. “Karen, you home?” When Peter’s AI confirmed she had been successfully transferred, Tony pushed himself to his feet and rounded the table, May following close at his side.

At their approach, Peter’s mask folded away. “Mr Stark, this is the coolest gift in the history of _ever_ ,” he started, then gasped as Tony seized him in a tight hug.

“You’re the gift, kid,” Tony murmured in his ear. Somehow he had the words for this. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been around as much as I should. I’m sorry for- well, a lot of things I haven’t done. Some that I have. But I hope you know that meeting you, knowing you, has been the single greatest honor of my life. You mean the world to me, Pete. From now on, I promise to show it, I’ll do better, I swear.”

Peter had wrapped his arms around Tony, as if scared to let go. Yet the kid was the first to pull away. His eyes were full with unshed tears, but he just nodded, jaw resolute. “I’ll do my best to make you proud, Mr Stark.”

Now Tony was the one struggling not to cry. “Too late, kid.”

Then it was May’s turn for goodbye, the two mumbling soft words back and forth, both spilling tears, much to the kid’s embarrassment. Yet when Wilson and Strange stepped through the portal, Peter followed without looking back.

As the portal vanished, Tony and May both collapsed into chairs, sagging against each other for support.

“He asked me to look after you,” May said eventually.

Tony closed his eyes, breathing in her sadness. Wondering at her strength. “More than you have been?”

She tried to smile, a sleeve chasing her last tears. “I know a hopeless mess when I see one.”

Somehow, from her, the words didn’t sting. “Uh, takes one to know one?” Tony countered. May managed a laugh that actually sounded genuine, then held out his spoon.

“Finish your pudding,” she ordered.

***

Steve was floating once more among the stars, lost among their clamor. Their warnings sounded so cold. Empty.

_Unreachable._

Then summer murmured in his ear, and he turned towards its warmth, wishing…

Steadied, he slipped into a sleep free of dreams.

***

15:47, Monday 2nd July 2018

Next time he woke, he found himself coughing so hard he swore he heard his own ribs rattle. “Goddamn,” he muttered.

“…language,” came a soft voice from beside him. Steve opened his eyes, heart already filled with sunshine. His bed had been moved closer to the window, closer to Tony, his dark eyes serious behind the glass.

But in a sickening rush, Steve remembered where he was. _This is it._ He was going to die. He was really going to die, right here in this awful plastic room. He sucked in a ragged breath, some sort of tube under his nose, but his mind was reeling, halfway convinced his airway was closing in again-

“Hey, easy,” Tony said, leaning forward. “Easy, Steve, relax.” He was so much closer now, so much clearer, but still out of reach- “We have a plan, okay? Strange is gonna buy us time to make the serum, so you’re going to be just fine,” Tony continued, but Steve could see the tension twisting his mouth, dragging down its corners. As if Tony was trying to convince himself his words held hope, even more than Steve. Which was… infuriating. Steve could handle bad news. Even the worst.

“Don’t manage me, Stark,” Steve spat out. “What’s really going on?”

Tony squeezed his eyes closed. “Jesus, Steve, for once can you just-” He broke off, and Steve realized the other man was shaking.

“Tony?” Steve asked, his brief flare of anger fading back into fear. “What happened?”

“Thanos,” Tony said, avoiding his gaze. “Wakanda is under attack.”

That… made no sense. “But you’re here.”

The other man let out a quick breath. “Yeah.”

“You stayed,” Steve said in wonder.

“That, we have established,” Tony agreed. He was still staring at the floor, his jaw clenched.

“ _Why_?” Steve demanded, his pulse thudding in his ears.

“I’d like to say it’s because you asked me to,” Tony said dully. “But maybe I just couldn’t face the fight, I don’t know.”

Happiness, Steve thought, was not supposed to hurt like this. “You stayed… for me?”

Tony shrugged, his shoulders locked into a miserable hunch. “Sorry.”

“ _Tony-”_ Steve breathed, his heart singing with the pure piercing joy that he suddenly, finally, could name; _I love you-_

But the other man winced at the sound of his name, and Steve’s confidence wobbled. “-thank you,” he said instead, his words tangling together. “For staying, for not- not leaving me alone, I don’t know how I would- I can’t do this without you. I’m sorry, I know that’s not fair to say, but Tony, I just, I can’t believe you _stayed_ , I know how hard that must have been for you-”

Yet Tony was sinking lower in his chair. “But it wasn’t,” he whispered, “Steve, it- it wasn’t hard at all… I’m a fucking coward, I know, but I just _couldn’t_ …”

Something in his voice sent warning thrills through Steve’s whole body. “You’re the furthest thing from a coward, Tony, why would you-”

The other man made that awful sound Steve had first heard in Siberia, the sob teetering halfway between laughter and despair. “I’m skipping out on the single greatest battle of our time. I know exactly what that makes me, Steve.”

Tears filled Steve’s eyes at the price Tony was paying. The sacrifice he was making for Steve’s sake. “If you want to go, Tony, you should go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

Unexpectedly, that made Tony laugh. “You are a _horrible_ liar, Cap.” He sat up straight, jaw set. “Forget it. I made my choice. I’m not going anywhere.”

He was so… beautiful. “It’s a brave choice,” Steve whispered instead. “You’re brave, Tony.”

Tony looked startled, then scowled. “Now who’s managing who? I know what I’m choosing, Rogers.”

“You think _staying_ is the easier option?” Steve said, trying to gesture at their surroundings, but his arm was so heavy. He gave up, an even steeper wave of exhaustion crashing over him. “With the other fight, at least there'd be a chance of winning.”

“We're going to win here too, Steve,” the other man protested. “You can’t… Don’t you dare give up now.”

“I can feel it, Tony,” he murmured, suddenly chilled with premonition. “The peace, it’s coming for me…” _Ma, how do you know when you're leaving…?_

“Fight it, Steve,” Tony said urgently, his face suddenly close, pure panic in his eyes. “Please. You have to resist, you have to… you gotta keep fighting, okay? When Strange comes back, he’s going to help you. Trust me, there’s a whole plan in the works, I promise we are going to save you. I just need you to hold on a little longer, all right?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, because Tony had stayed when Steve had asked. Therefore because Tony had asked, Steve would stay. A truth as pure as time itself, as inevitable as… _as summer_ , Steve thought. He smiled up at the man he loved. “Okay, Tony. I promise.” _He’s so close_ , Steve thought. _If I could just…_

Without further thought, he stretched out his hand; Tony instantly reached back, yet the glass keeping them apart was cold and harsh as the void. _Right_ , Steve thought sadly. _No fairytales. Not anymore._ He let his hand fall.

“Ah, dammit,” Tony muttered, then he was standing in a rush. “I, uh… Give me a minute.” He sounded so odd, but when Steve opened his eyes to apologize for the awkwardness, Tony had already left, the other room empty behind the glass.

 _Stupid_ , Steve thought. The despair rose up in his throat. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ He listened helplessly to his rocketing heart rate, the machines again exposing his neediness. His weakness. _He’ll come back_ , he told himself, trying to calm down. _He’ll come back, just don’t be stupid and he won’t leave again, he promised he’d stay, he’ll come back, he said he wouldn’t leave-_

Countless seconds later, the door to his room opened; Steve wearily opened his eyes to whatever medical torment that promised. Yet Dr Palmer wasn’t alone. A second suited figure was approaching his bedside, dark eyes bright behind his full-face visor.

_Tony._

Dr Palmer pulled over a chair and turned to the other man. “All set?” she asked.

Tony, who had been keeping his hands raised oddly in the air, now wriggled his fingers. “Double scrubbed, double gloved.”

 _What_ , thought Steve. Unable to speak, he just stared at Tony, a fuzzy sort of sunshine rising within him.

“Okay, so here’s the rules,” Dr Palmer announced, producing an extra pair of gloves for Steve. “Hand contact only. The second you touch anything else but the air, you exit and re-sterilize. Your suit isn’t fully airtight, so you still need to keep your distance. And again, if you need to sneeze, get the hell out of the room first.”

“Got it,” Tony told her; his gaze on Steve’s face never wavered.

She positioned the plastic chair closer to the bed, and Tony obediently sat, keeping his hands safely raised.

“Your oxygen levels are a little low, Captain Rogers,” Dr Palmer said, frowning. “I know you’re not a fan but I’m going to need you to use the full mask from now on, okay?”

Steve barely noticed as she settled the mask over his face, still staring at Tony, unable to believe. The doctor made her goodbyes and left.

In the face of his continuing silence, Tony frowned, uncertain. “Uh, so. Would it be okay if I…?” He gestured at Steve’s hand, and finally Steve allowed himself to understand. H _e wants to hold my hand. Tony wants to-_

Heart delirious with sudden joy, Steve reached out.

And Tony reached back.

The other man’s touch was gentle. Reverent. Just like Steve remembered. Tony’s thumb skimmed Steve’s palm. Despite the layers between them, Steve felt a single thrilling jolt dart throughout his entire being, as if the ripped seams of the past two years had been smoothed back into rich, glorious alignment. Tony turned Steve’s hand over, then enfolded it tight in both of his, their fingers entwined as if in prayer. He was shaking, or Tony was, he wasn’t sure; Steve couldn’t be sure where either of them began anymore, where either of them ended, whether they were two or some ecstatic unitary one-

He tried to pull himself back towards sense, towards reason, but _Tony_ was _touching_ him and his touch felt like summer and hope, giddy warmth radiating all the way through-

“I didn’t plan it,” Tony whispered, his voice cracking. “Just so you know. That night, I didn’t… It wasn’t revenge.”

Steve’s delirious, swooping heart crashed to a halt. _What._ He raised his other hand and tore the oxygen mask away from his face. “Tony, that doesn't make- You _told_ me-”

“Did I?” Tony asked softly; with a sick, free-falling sensation, Steve realized that Tony had never actually confirmed the accusation. His _assumption_. All the rage of the past two years; all the bitterness and disdain; all born - _again_ \- from Steve’s lack of faith.

 _Have I_ ever _seen the truth of him?_

Dazed, Steve pressed the mask back over his face, taking a quick breath of stale air. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Tony. I believe you.”

“What, just like that?” The other man was frowning. Wary.

“I could never make it fit,” Steve said, amazed by his own emerging certainty. The giddy, overwhelming _relief_. “I know people can be cruel like that, but I couldn’t accept it. Not from you. It made me think I didn’t know you at all. And that… that’s the part that hurt the most.”

Tony grimaced. “I should have told you the truth.”

“And I shouldn’t have assumed the worst,” Steve countered, then stole a deep breath from the mask. “But if that night wasn’t supposed to be revenge… what happened?”

“I dreamed of her,” the other man said, misery written across his whole body.

 _Oh_ , Steve thought. “Your mom?”

Tony nodded. “When I woke up, I thought…. I thought she deserved my anger. Some kind of justice.” He glanced up at Steve. “But then you looked at me like…” He shook his head, lost for words. “When I saw how much I’d hurt you, I thought… this isn’t justice. This is evil. Something I could never take back.”

“I thought you hated me,” Steve said faintly.

“Oh, I did,” Tony said, then bit his lip. “I tried to. Made it easier to live with. But deep down I knew. What I’d done. What I was.”

Steve shook his head, light-headed despite the oxygen mask’s assistance. “I would have forgiven you, if I’d known, Tony… You could have talked to me.”

“I know, Steve,” the other man said simply, defeat and something worse in his voice. That… made no sense. That couldn’t make sense, it didn’t-

“You didn’t want forgiveness,” Steve said, the awful realization dawning. _Oh Tony, no…_

Tony looked away, cleared his throat. “Misery felt… appropriate.”

“Is that why you found…” Steve couldn’t bring himself to say the man’s name, but Tony seemed to know what he was trying to ask.

“At first, yeah, maybe.” The other man’s laugh was bitter. Embarrassed. “Guess I picked the right guy for that job.”

Tony’s attempt at humor did nothing to help the tightness in Steve’s chest, the blurring of his vision. He pressed the mask over his face, took a deep breath, but the rush of air only helped clarify his understanding. “I’m sorry,” Steve said, his control crumbling under the weight of his remorse.

But Tony looked confused. “What? Why?”

“This all started with me,” Steve said hoarsely, acid regret in his throat. “With Siberia, with me lying to you-” He broke off to steal another breath from the mask, internally cursing his every weakness, past and present.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Tony whispered, gripping Steve’s hand tighter. “Don’t you- you _cannot_ take this… I’m the one who fucked up here, Steve. Not you. Jesus, why would you- Steve, I knew _exactly_ what Ty was and I used him anyway, all of this is _my_ fault-”

“Tony, _stop_ ,” Steve said, his voice cracking. “ _Nothing_ you’ve done justifies him hurting you-”

“You don’t even _know_ what I’ve done, Steve,” Tony snarled, “you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about-”

“I _do_ know, Tony,” Steve snarled right back, hurling the words across the distance between them, “because I know _you_. I know you and I love you, and _you didn’t deserve it_.”

Tony’s mouth snapped shut, pure shock on his face. “You… what?”

“I love you,” Steve repeated, then he had to duck back under the mask, feeling like he might suffocate under the weight of his sudden, agonized hope.

Warring expressions clashed across Tony’s face. “Steve…” The other man’s features settled into raw disbelief. “ _Why_?”

“God, Tony,” Steve felt like his heart was splitting open, “is it really so hard to believe?” When the other man just shook his head, Steve pressed on. “I spent two years trying to hate you, trying to forget that night ever happened, but somehow despite everything you’re _still_ the most important person in my life. And I need to tell you now, just in case-”

“Don’t,” Tony snarled, “don’t you dare think like that-”

Steve raised his voice. “- _in case_ I don’t make it. I’m sorry if it’s selfish, but I just… I wanted you to know. That’s how I feel.” He ducked back under the oxygen mask, gasping.

But Tony had turned away, was trying to hide his face. “Steve… I-I don’t…”

His heart plummeted, a spectacularly physical sensation. “It’s okay, Tony,” Steve said heavily, suddenly grateful for how the mask was obscuring his face. “You don’t have to… I know you don’t feel the same way. I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything-”

“Don’t, don’t do that,” the other man cut him off. “Don’t ever be sorry, Steve, please, I’m the one who should be sorry, I didn’t…”

Tony looked up at him, eyes blazing behind the plastic visor, courage and fear entwined. “That night… it meant a lot, okay? I just… I didn’t expect it, any of it. The whole thing felt like a dream… but I fucked it up so it didn’t matter what you thought of me, it was easier to let you believe whatever you wanted-” The other man broke off, shaking his head; Steve squeezed his hand in support.

“Everything that day,” Tony continued slowly, “that whole week, it happened so fast, I didn’t really have time to think… I knew I would be breaking your heart, that’s still on me. But I had no idea I was breaking mine too.” He laughed, or maybe it was a sob, his downcast eyes bitter and beautiful. “Some fucking genius, huh? That night, I thought we might- it felt like the beginning of something real, something incredible, but I _ruined_ it. I couldn’t believe how fucked up I was, after. I tried to just move on and forget about you, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t want to think about you ever again. When I couldn’t stop, I told myself it’s because I hated you, but…”

“It’s never- _we’ve_ never been that simple,” Steve whispered.

“Right,” Tony agreed. He sat up, hesitantly meeting Steve’s gaze. “I can’t… say what you said, Steve, I- I’m not there yet, or maybe I’m just not capable anymore, I don’t know. But what I can say is that I’m sorry. And if I could take it back, I would.”

“I know,” Steve said, a warm flush of adoration humming through him, because this was the Tony he’d known and cherished, this was _his_ Tony, fair and brave and true, and now he knew there had never been anyone else.

“I wanted to apologize, a few months in,” Tony said softly. “I was going to tell you everything.”

Realization punched right through Steve’s happiness. Only once, had Tony returned to the Compound in those first six months. “I… I remember. We fought.” In fact, Steve’s stupid heart had leapt to see the man, despite their mutual betrayal, and he’d had to force himself to stay aloof by taking refuge in his leadership role.

Tony’s inexplicable recklessness in inviting Spider-Man to come train with the official Avengers had put the first serious dent in Steve’s resolve to keep things professional. The fact Tony hadn’t bothered to consult the team and had just shown up with the kid in tow was strike two. But the final straw had been Steve’s discovery that Peter’s secret identity was also concealing such a young age. As Clint described it afterward, Captain America had ‘thoroughly lost his shit’. Loudly. In front of the whole team. But Tony had been equally loud and twice as insulting in return.

At the time, Steve had taken that as a sign of hope, that maybe things were getting back to normal. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ “I yelled at you.”

Tony gave a crooked smile, eyes darting away. “Well, you weren’t exactly wrong.”

“But you figured I was still mad at you?” Steve guessed.

“I thought you hated me,” Tony admitted.

“So you left again.” Everything about the past two years was making a new, horrible, upside-down sense. “And you never really came back.”

“I wanted to, Steve,” the other man whispered. “I would have, if I-”

“If he’d let you?” Steve blurted out. Tony’s face went blank, and Steve wondered if he’d gone too far, mentioning Stone. But instead of shutting Steve down, the other man took a breath, bowed his head, and nodded in acknowledgment. _So brave. God, Tony…_

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Steve told him.

Tony gave a shuddering sigh, then he traced a heart onto the back of Steve’s gloved hand and glanced up, almost shy.

The sweetness of the gesture sent a bright feeling rising up through Steve, an effervescent wonder bursting and settling over him all at once. _We’re going to have this_ , he realized. _Me and him, we’re really…_ Yet Tony wasn’t free yet. Wasn’t safe. Steve still had to…

The brightness was spreading, whispering of starlight, but Steve turned away, as he’d promised. Underneath, he was really quite tired. His eyes drifted closed.

“Tony?” he murmured through the oxygen mask. “If you want to talk about him, I can listen.”

He heard Tony sigh, a careful and unhappy sound. “Not today, Steve,” the other man said. “Today I want to talk about us.”

***

In the sterile void of the isolation room, Steve rested, and Tony spoke.

A part of him thought he might never stop; his words seemed to spill forth in an endless flood, his mind spinning visions of the life he and Steve would spend together, scenes so vivid he could almost watch them unfold on the blank walls around him. Steve refused to succumb to sleep, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Tony couldn’t look away.

As the minutes snarled into hours, he pitched his every thought against the silence, watching Steve cling to the thread of his voice despite the worsening cough, the growing rattle in his chest, the fever sweat on his brow. On and on, Tony spoke, without pause, baring his soul without any care for the medical team’s presence. Steve needed his words, he knew; silence was danger, and so he kept chattering, on and on. Before Ty, he would have easily gone on for hours. These days, he was not prepared, but even as his voice began to fade into a painful rasp, Tony refused to quit, finding himself lapsing into Italian lullabies, raking his memory for the childhood comforts he’d once flung aside in furious grief.

He cried, here and there. Silently at first, so Steve wouldn’t notice. As the evening wore on, Steve’s breathing grew too loud for it to matter, each rasping heave hideous to witness.

When Steve’s lips turned blue, the three doctors came all at once, and Tony knew.

“I’m afraid your oxygen levels are still falling, Steve,” Helen said. “With your permission, we would like to put you on a ventilator to help you breathe.” She could barely meet Tony’s eyes.

“Another mask?” Steve asked. His voice was so faint.

“More like a tube,” Dr Palmer explained. “The machine will breathe for you so your own lungs can rest. But it won’t hurt, you’ll be sedated first.”

“What?” Steve rasped in sudden distress, panicked blue eyes piercing Tony’s own. “ _No_ , you can’t put me under. I don’t want to- please, Tony, don’t let them put me under-”

“We need to buy you time, Steve,” Helen said quietly. “It’s the only way.”

Behind the doctors, May had slipped into the room. With a dull shock, Tony felt her hand on his shoulder. Everyone was looking at him now.

“Tony,” Steve begged.

His heart could hold no mercy.“Steve, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re gonna be okay. And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Steve’s body was seized in another round of punishing chills, his teeth chattering. “B-but I c-can’t,” he mumbled. “Can’t w-wake up until it’s m-morning.”

His fevered words made no sense, but they were out of time, and Tony gripped Steve’s hand closer, his own voice cracking with fatigue. “Steve, sweetheart, you need to let the doctors help you, okay? I promise I’ll be right here with you, the whole time. I won’t leave.”

“No,” Steve gasped. “No, I won’t, I don’t want to sleep, I can’t.”

Tony looked helplessly at the doctors. “It’s his decision,” Dr Palmer said quietly, as Dr Lewis stared at the floor. Helen just shook her head.

No room for defeat. “Hey. Eyes up. Look at me, soldier,” Tony commanded, words like iron, cold and sharp. He waited until the other man complied, the fear in his eyes almost breaking Tony’s resolve. “Steve, please,” he whispered, his voice softening. “I know you’re scared, but you need to do this, okay? For me.”

“I can’t…” Steve said, barely audible from behind the oxygen mask. “I can’t…”

“You promised me you’d fight,” Tony said, and then he was crying because he knew they were out of time, knew how cruel this was, but he had to. He had to. “Captain America can’t start breaking promises now, Steve, I… If you don’t fight you’ll die, you’ll leave me alone, and god, Steve, I can’t lose you again, I need you, _please_ -” He broke off, unable to bear the thought of failure yet without any hope of success.

“Tony…” He heard Steve sigh his name like he’d used to, exasperation and fondness and rebuke in one. Perhaps for the last time.

_Oh god, oh god, is this the last time-?_

Then Steve gave Tony’s hand a squeeze, weak but steady. “Okay… It’s okay, Tony… I’ll do it.” Tony sucked in a breath, dizzy with thanks, but Steve continued. “On one… condition…”

“Name it,” Tony said, ready to win him the world.

Steve’s gaze was fierce and shy and flawless. “…touch me?”

And with a sudden desperate shock, Tony thought there could be nothing in the world he would ever love more than this man in this moment. Nothing he’d ever wanted more, than to grant his request. _Steve._

Yet all Tony had to offer was disappointment.

“I- Steve, I don’t-” He couldn’t find the words to refuse.

But May was squeezing his shoulder, a steady strength in her voice. “It’s okay, Tony,” she announced, glaring at the doctors. “He can do that, it’s okay. Right?”

Dr Lewis and Dr Palmer both wore frowns, but Helen nodded in quick agreement. “It is a breach of protocol, but I believe a brief contact will not pose a threat to the Captain.” Tony knew what she meant. Steve was too far gone for it to matter.

They were out of time.

“We’ll give you a minute,” Tony heard May murmur, then the others left so it was just him and Steve. There was no one else left in the world but him and Steve, eyes locked, hearts racing.

Without breaking eye contact, Tony slowly stripped off his double layer of gloves. The isolation room was designed to keep a pleasant temperature but the air felt cool on his newly bared skin, the contrast sharpening his focus. Steve’s eyes followed his every move, rapt and ravenous, as every inch of Tony’s awareness narrowed down to this one simple gesture. Just one yearning, wordless act.

Tony reached out.

And Steve was _there_ , ready, his cheek so soft and warm and real against Tony’s fingertips. The other man closed his eyes and leaned helplessly into the contact with a groan; Tony felt some trapped twisted thing within him, half-buried, half-prized, finally surrender to peace.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open, a dazed look settling over him. “Hi,” he breathed, and then he was crying just like Tony was, their tears sliding free in sorrow and joy combined. Recklessly, _defiantly_ , the other man pulled off his oxygen mask so he could nuzzle deeper into Tony’s hand, lips rough against Tony’s palm. Tony was so absorbed in this sensation - _Steve, Steve, Steve,_ on his _skin_ \- that he didn’t notice the door sliding open to announce the doctors’ return, but Steve did, grabbing Tony’s hand between his own to keep it in place against his cheek, holding him tight as if to never let him go.

“Kiss me,” Steve ordered, blue eyes demanding Tony’s total attention, his need bright and cruel as the noonday sun.

Dazzled, Tony grasped after sense, but when the hovering doctors made no move to intervene, he saw no possible refusal.

In one quick motion, he had pulled off his visor, was standing, was leaning over Steve and then- oh, god- he was tasting Steve’s lips against his own, hearing the hitch in other man’s breath, _feeling_ his low, desperate groan.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, content against his mouth.

Then he pulled away and began to cough in tight, harsh barks. Even as someone replaced Steve’s oxygen mask and the spasm slowly eased, Tony focused only on the sensation of his fingers trailing through Steve’s hair, along his brow. He didn’t notice when someone replaced the visor over his face, too busy was he memorizing every expression that flickered across Steve’s face. Serene and pale, Steve lay and stared right back at him, eased into the deep contentment Tony had witnessed only briefly, once before.

Nearby, someone cleared their throat, but neither looked away. “We need to begin now, Captain Rogers.”

Steve pushed aside the oxygen mask and grabbed Tony’s bare hand, clutching it to his lips in a kiss that felt like a prayer.

“Tony,” he blurted out, eyes wide in sudden panic, “I don’t want to go-”

Wrestling his own surging terror, Tony tried to find words to respond, to comfort, but he ran out of time.

The sedation pulled Steve under, swift and relentless.

And then he was gone.

***

After a fearsome and lengthy battle on the outskirts of Wakanda, Thanos was at last decapitated by Thor, his army fleeing into full retreat. Doctor Strange, War Machine and Spider-Man immediately returned by portal to New York, arriving right on the stroke of midnight.

One hour and seventeen minutes too late.

Hospital logs indicate that after being placed on a ventilator, Captain Steven Grant Rogers continued to deteriorate, suffering catastrophic organ failure secondary to septic infection. The patient went into full cardiac arrest at 22:19. Despite multiple extreme measures, his heart failed to restart.

Official time of death was recorded as 22:43.

* * *

[Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019_Cap_Ironman_Big_Bang/works/21607990) by march_hyde


	5. Chapter 5

??:??, Tuesday 3rd July 2018

This time, some part of Tony was aware when they came to take him away. This time, he didn’t fight. Their hands were gentle, and by now the body was cold.

They put him somewhere soft, soothing voices in his ear. He could feel arms around him, warmth on either side. Could hear crying. Maybe his. Maybe not.

A while later, his mind gave him names for the voices, for the warmth. Peter. Rhodey.

Safe. They were safe.

This time, he was aware that he cried.

More voices gathered, said gentle things, maybe cried. Peter gave way to Bruce. He heard Nat sobbing on the floor, her arm curled around his feet. Provoked to worry by her grief, Tony tried to look around, to see who was missing. But everyone he could think of was there. Everyone, except…

May had dragged Tony away so the doctors could save him. Tony had sat on the floor and watched as they tried. Watched them strip off their masks when they failed.

After, he’d climbed onto the bed and refused to let go.

Now here he was, in a room built for waiting, he with nothing left to wait for, surrounded with people sick with their own mourning. He pictured the battlefield, how they too must have looked for the missing. He wondered if they knew enough to count Tony Stark among the dead.

Not yet, he figured. Not today. They had climbed in all around him and would refuse to let him go.

But in the end, he knew, they would.

They always did.

Clinging to the thought, huddling into its meager comfort, he let himself sink again. The absence of hope was an agony so overwhelming that it negated his suffering, leading him into an almost pleasant numbness. He wondered if this was the same peace that would let a soldier die with a smile. The end he’d denied to Steve.

 _I_ _’m sorry_ , he sent into the silence.

 _I_ _m so sorry._

Yet there was no one left to hear.

***

Tony was too far gone to notice when Peter dragged Thor out of the room, jaw set in wild determination.

Nor did he note the continuing absence of Doctor Strange.

He may have been better prepared, if he had.

***

03:57, Tuesday 3rd July 2018

Slowly, the waiting room had been filled to capacity with the exhausted bodies of Earth’s defenders, hearts heavy despite the great victory. Tony saw their grief and hated them for it, closing his eyes against their tears. In turn, he felt the others shrink away from him, their silence speaking volumes. It just wasn’t _fair_ , he thought. They’d spent every day with Steve, these past two years. Huddled between Bruce and Rhodey, Tony sat trapped in a furious numbness at the idea that anyone else could have so much more to mourn.

When Peter burst through the door, it took a sharp nudge from Rhodey before Tony could bear to open his eyes, Bruce shooting to his feet as if on guard.

“Mr Stark! Mr Stark!” The kid was nearly levitating with excitement. “You gotta see-” He glanced over his shoulder, “uh, something’s _happened_ -”

That was all he had time to say, because next thing someone was pushing him aside, someone tall and blonde and-

 _No_ , Tony thought. _No._

He had stopped in the doorway and was staring back at Tony, both oblivious to the shocked gasps rippling through the room.

 _It can_ _’t_ , Tony thought. _I can_ _’t._ He tried to stand but collapsed forward, only Rhodey’s quick intervention stopping him from sliding right off the couch.

But then he was there, kneeling in front of Tony, _Steve_ was kneeling and pulling Tony tight against his chest, strong and warm and _alive_ -

Hope smashed through the numbness, bringing an agonizing return of feeling. Tony buried his face into the other man’s neck, too terrified to open his eyes in case this was a dream, in case he made a mistake and had to wake up.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’m okay, you’re okay, Tony, it’s me, I’ve got you…” But it really was Steve’s voice in his ear, Steve’s arms holding him close, keeping him safe, Steve’s scent and breath and touch. The man he maybe loved, somehow, impossibly, returned.

Or not so impossibly, given what he could hear of Peter’s scrambled explanation, the kid chattering on and on about Strange and Thor and the Reality Stone. Tony knew, in a vague sort of way, that the rest of the team were still in the room, that he needed to pull himself together. But he couldn’t keep hold of the idea, couldn’t quite care about anything beyond the feel of Steve’s fingers combing through his hair, the steady beat of Steve’s pulse against his cheek. He’d once kept a list of so many reasons this could never work, the two of them, but right now he couldn’t think of a single one.

And so, when he made himself pull back and look Steve over, he couldn’t resist leaning in and brushing his lips against Steve’s. The other man inhaled sharply, as if surprised, but he instantly returned the kiss, softly at first, then deepening to a desperate tenderness, full of fierce promise. Tony soon pulled back again, needing to see Steve again, wanting to cradle his face in his hands and study every inch of him, just as he had in death. But now he pressed kisses wherever he found signs of life; Steve closed his eyes contentedly under the attention, humming slightly.

Barton’s voice sounded very far away. “Uh… So that’s new.”

From his seat beside Tony, Rhodey cleared his throat. “No, it’s not.” His voice was rough with emotion, and when Tony glanced at him, his best friend’s smile held such delight that it almost hurt to witness. Rhodey gripped his shoulder then stood, gesturing for Steve to take his place on the couch. Steve did just that, his usual grace slightly impeded by Tony having fastened himself to the other man’s body like some deranged limpet. Tony was vaguely aware his behavior was embarrassing bordering on pathetic, but he still couldn’t care about anything but staying near Steve. Preferably _on_ Steve, forever and ever and ever-

Of course, Steve had to go and be responsible. “What happened with Thanos?” he asked, looking round at the others. “Are the Infinity Stones secure?”

Tony tried to be responsible, tried to pay attention as the team described the battle.

Wakanda’s armies had been magnificent, it seemed, their shield technology allowing Earth’s defenses to manage the alien incursion with minimal casualties. Thanos himself had been off-world for most of the early battle, content to spend his first waves of attack searching for weaknesses. Once he’d joined the fray, Carol, Strange and Vision had managed to negate his use of the Infinity Stones, but he remained an intense physical threat even without their power.

Only when Thor returned in a blast of rainbow glory had the balance finally tipped in Earth’s favor. With help from Mantis and Wanda, Spider-Man and the Hulk had finally managed to wrench the Gauntlet from Thanos’ hand. Faced with certain defeat, the Mad Titan had briefly managed to escape his captivity and order his armies into one massive, futile attack. Hoping to avert a massacre, Thor tracked Thanos down on the battlefield and fought him, one on one, the Asgardian king eventually decapitating the Mad Titan in a single stroke. As their commander fell, the alien armies turned tail and fled.

It was really over, Tony realized. Thanos was dead.

_Steve is alive._

Earth was safe.

 _Steve_ _is safe._

Taken altogether, it was more good news than Tony could handle. More reward than he could ever deserve. It was a mistake, he knew, to take so much more than his due, but he didn’t know how to give it back. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. All he could do was enjoy this one golden moment, treasure it and tuck its memory away for future, duller days, because that much he did know. Happiness was not sustainable. Sooner or later, the debt would come due.

Slowly, Tony stopped listening, unable to keep up with Steve and the team’s responsible words; instead, he let himself fade, his mind drifting through wistful memories like a child wandering through empty rooms, leading his exhausted body onward into sad, scattered dreams.

***

Later, much later, Strange invited Tony for tea and told him all about Peter’s role in Steve’s resurrection. On their return to New York, the kid had been so hopeful that they could save Steve, and equally devastated to learn they were too late. Knowing there was no safe way to undo death with the Time Stone, Strange himself had given up. Only Peter’s stubborn optimism had kept the kid thinking it over, and so it had been all Peter’s idea to try using the Reality Stone alongside the Time Stone to restore Steve’s serum in the past. Tony still had no idea how that could possibly work - he really, _really_ hated magic - but Strange had laughed and told him to just be glad that it did. Since Strange had no experience using the Reality Stone, it could have gone exceptionally wrong.

The difference between success and failure proved to be Peter’s second idea, which was to ask Thor for advice about the Reality Stone. The Asgardian king had told them of the Stone’s ability to take on a host, and after consulting with three of Asgard’s finest surviving healers, he had volunteered to do so. His godly ability to withstand the Stone’s power had allowed Strange to successfully channel its magic into the past through the Time Stone and restore the serum back when Steve was still alive, thus granting him time to heal and, through some nonsensical twist of sorcery, bringing Steve back to life in the present. It had taken some time for Steve to wake, but once his revival proved the idea worked, Strange and Thor had immediately left for Wakanda, hoping to do the same with the rest of Earth’s casualties. Unfortunately, they found that without the third factor of the serum’s healing properties, the standard human body could not withstand the procedure.

For many days, Earth’s defenders debated over the merits of keeping the Reality Stone if it could still undo future deaths among enhanced beings, but eventually all agreed a death cure would pose too tempting a proposition for other alien superpowers, and would thereby make Earth a target once more. With Vision safely adapted to tiny arc-reactor tech, Wanda and Carol were free to combine their powers and destroy the Reality Stone along with the Mind, Space and Power Stones.

A few days after his talk with Strange, Tony asked Friday to calculate the odds not only of Steve’s successful revival, but also of Steve remembering everything that had happened up until his death. When it took her a week just to estimate how long it would take her to complete the calculation, he figured he was better off not knowing.

***

05:09, Tuesday 3rd July 2018

The post-battle crash was hitting the team harder than Steve had ever seen. He supposed that was to be expected, given everything.

After Wanda and Vision had volunteered to take their off-world allies back to the Compound, the remnants of the team had settled into the waiting room, too battle-sapped to move. Considering six hours ago he’d died, then an hour ago he’d woken up semi-clothed in a hospital bed amid a choir of shrieking nurses, Steve didn’t mind staying put for a while. Apparently, his attempted resurrection had been initially judged a failure, so as a sign of respect, some of the staff had taken it upon themselves to clean and dress the body. Alerted by the screams, Peter had tried to fill him in on everything he’d missed, but Steve had flung on a shirt and insisted they find Tony instead.

Seeing the other man felt like… Steve still couldn’t find the words to fit such joy. But Tony had fallen apart at the sight of him, shadows deep as bruises under his eyes, desperation written in the lines etched across his face. Steve had rushed to comfort him, but even wrapped in his arms Tony felt dangerously brittle, as if one wrong move would cause him to shatter completely, crumbling away into dust. Hoping some good news would reassure the other man enough to let him rest, Steve had asked the others for details of the victory; the team had obliged, the deep concern on their faces mirroring Steve’s own desperate worry.

Thankfully, it seemed to work; Tony was now sleeping soundly, sprawled across Steve’s chest. Unfortunately, that meant Steve couldn’t move, not even when Thor's return was accompanied by a visibly emotional Bucky. At the sight of his best friend’s distress, Steve yearned to stand and hug the man, but he equally couldn’t bear to disturb Tony’s rest.

It wouldn’t only be Tony, either. Peter was sharing their couch, curled up at the other end with Tony’s feet on his lap, and was currently snoring softly. Nat was stretched precariously along the back of the couch, her head resting on Steve’s shoulder and her arm tucked around both him and Tony. Sam and Clint were sitting on the floor but each kept finding ways to subtly lean against Steve. Bruce and Rhodey had dragged the other couch over for themselves, nearly closing the group into a circle. Rationally, Steve knew that the team was just seeking reassurance after the near loss of their leader, but it was kinda intense to go from full isolation protocol to being stuck in a nest of semi-traumatized friends.

Thankfully, Clint spotted Steve’s dilemma and immediately stood, announcing his need to do a pre-dawn snack run and dragging a grumbling Bruce away with him. Bucky took his place on the floor, briefly gripping Steve’s offered hand then wrapping his arm around Steve’s leg in mute relief. Wielding her usual discretion, Nat pointed Thor to Bruce’s vacated spot on the other couch and struck up a loud conversation with him, Rhodey and Sam. Her cover freed Steve to give Bucky the full attention he deserved, their reunion two years delayed by the strict terms of Steve's parole.

From the reddened smudges around his eyes, it was clear the other man had shed some significant tears, yet Bucky just smirked and nodded at Tony, keeping his voice low. “So. Deathbed confession?”

Steve snorted a laugh. “I guess.”

His best friend tilted his head, studying them both. “You really need to work on your timing.”

“Sympathy is free,” Steve told him, then sighed. “It was very hard on him.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look. “Less on you?”

“No, it was awful,” he admitted. “But the relentless physical misery kinda took my mind off things.”

“Ah yes, the one perk of misery,” the other man drawled, but then his smirk softened into a real smile. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Steve said, then he sighed again. “I will be. We will be. I hope. There’s just some stuff we need to… It’s complicated.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Your stuff or his stuff?”

It wasn’t a hard question, but Steve actually had to think about it. “Can I just say ours? I kinda don’t see a difference anymore. If it affects him, it affects me.”

“…huh. And can I take it that applies vice-versa?” Bucky asked.

Steve frowned. “Of course.”

“Wow,” the other man breathed, as if Steve had said something shocking.

“What?”

“Stevie, I believe that’s what the kids call a committed relationship,” Bucky said, clearly trying to bite back a grin.

“Uh, I guess?” Steve said, confused by his best friend’s apparent surprise. “So what?”

“So what?” Bucky sounded incredulous. “So it only took your stubborn ass literally a hundred years to let anyone get this close. Making this not an insignificant development.”

“Technically thirty-four,” Steve snapped, feeling slightly aggrieved, “and I let people get close all the time.”

“Sure, you let people need you,” his friend said. “But you won’t let yourself need them back.”

“Agreed,” Sam said softly.

Too late, Steve realized the other conversation had fallen silent. Nat squeezed his arm in subtle apology, meaning his team-mates had definitely been listening for a while. Anger flared within him but faded just as quickly, snuffed out by his awareness of the grief recently spent on his behalf. Besides, if his mistakes were affecting the team, he owed them a chance to speak.

Steve cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m listening.” At his words, the team subtly relaxed, to his dismay. _What else did they expect?_

“You check in with us, ask us about our problems,” Sam said, “but you won’t breathe a word about your own. It’s all negativity in, positivity out.”

“Even I find it hard to read you lately,” Natasha admitted. “You were always a closed book, but now it’s almost a blank page.”

“Uh,” Steve said, their words stinging more than he’d like. “Okay, I hear you. But is that really… I mean… Isn’t that just the job?”

“Leadership can certainly lead to isolation,” Thor said; the king sounded uncharacteristically subdued. “Yet the more responsibility one accepts, the more necessary it becomes to have trusted companions who will see the person and not the power.”

“But I thought I was doing that,” Steve said, mystified. “Was I not doing that?”

“Oh, dear god,” Rhodey muttered. “You literally have no idea how much you sound like Tony right now, you two deserve each other.”

At his name, Steve automatically looked down at the sleeping man, the sight bringing an easy smile to his face. “That’s the hope,” he said.

Sam hid his face in his hands. “Ugh, they’re so cute, I wanna puke.”

“It appears your affection for Stark has grown much deeper since my departure, Steve Rogers,” Thor observed. “The heat of shared adversity may well forge great passion from friendship’s ore, yet I am told you and Stark were most grievously estranged these past two years. In truth, I am having difficulty reconciling these observations.”

Steve bit his lip. He’d really thought he was being open and honest before, but if his friends wanted more from him, then he would do better. “Tony and I… it’s complicated. There was a lot of hurt on both sides. There still is, I think. But being apart just made everything worse, and, well. Yesterday we finally had time to talk.” He took a deep breath. “And if I’m being honest, my feelings for Tony aren’t exactly new.” Only Natasha seemed totally unsurprised by his words, the others displaying various degrees of shock.

“See, man?” Sam protested. “This is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about. You act like you can’t stand the guy, but you’ve been secretly pining for him instead? Since when?”

“Maybe since New York?” Steve said, then frowned as the others all groaned in frustration. “But I didn’t know what to call it, I’ve never fallen for a man before, I just… I knew he was important somehow, and being around him made me feel, I don’t know…”

“Warm ‘n’ fuzzy?” “Tingly?” “Special?” “Horny?” “Tall?” Everyone tried to finish his sentence at the same time, then cracked up at each other’s answers.

The sound of their laughter was loud enough to wake Tony. “Whhuh?” he asked, raising his face away from Steve’s neck and peering around in confusion, eyes still heavy with sleep. He had a patch of tiny red wrinkles across his cheek from Steve’s shirt, he’d clearly been drooling, and his hair was sticking out in every direction at once.

 _Oh, I love him_ , Steve thought, his heart swooping painfully and wonderfully, as if about to burst.

Tony glanced up, found Steve’s face. “Hi,” he breathed, and Steve’s heart swooped again, hope and longing smoothing out into joy and amazement.

“Hi,” Steve whispered back, half-shy before their smirking audience.

Tony turned his warm sleepy gaze to the others. “Hey, what’s up?” he mumbled. Casually, as if they did this all the time.

“Eh, not much,” Rhodey said, suppressing a grin. “Steve was just telling us all how he’s been in love with you for years without anyone knowing, including himself.”

“Oh yeah? Cool,” Tony murmured, stifling a yawn behind his hand. Then his eyes popped fully open, and he swiveled back to stare at Steve, suddenly wide awake.

“Uh,” Steve said eloquently. “Surprise?”

Tony’s face cycled through a dozen fleeting expressions, but he settled on a soft smile; Steve smiled back, giddy with delight.

“Oh god, get a room,” Sam muttered.

Steve elected to ignore him, despite the blush heating his cheeks, because Tony had pressed in against Steve as if seeking comfort. He was peering down at Barnes; Steve didn’t know which of them looked more wary and he definitely didn’t know what to say to ease the tension.

Luckily, just then May Parker entered the waiting room, her dark eyes lighting up with amusement when she saw everyone tangled across the couches. She nodded to Steve as she approached, then gave Tony a quick wink before crouching down to study her snoring kid. “I talked to Happy, he’s sending a car to bring us home,” she said, then smoothed some stray hair back from Peter’s face. “Damn, he’s totally zonked. I hate waking him.”

“Please, Lady of May, allow me to carry the Man of Spiders to your vehicle,” Thor announced, shooting to his feet with suspicious eagerness. Steve tried to hide his smirk. It looked like he wasn’t the only one with a thing for hot brunettes.

“Why thank you, Mr Odinson,” May said, smiling up at the Asgardian, a certain twinkle in her eye suggesting she’d taken note of his enthusiasm. While May leaned over to give Tony then Steve a quick kiss on the head, Thor managed to pick Peter up; there was one accidental introduction of the kid’s head to a stray wall, but under May’s supervision, they left without further incident.

On their way out, Steve's enhanced ears picked up Thor’s booming voice greeting Clint and Bruce. The two scavengers had returned triumphant, Clint bearing armfuls of snacks, Bruce with a full tray of coffee and sandwiches, which they set on a table a the far end of the room.

Roused by the thrilling aromas, the rest of the weary fighters scrambled to grab what they could.

“You okay?” Steve asked Tony, wanting to check in while the others were distracted.

The other man seemed subdued, but he nodded. “Yeah. You need to eat?”

The serum-driven hunger was pretty much constant, but even by his standards, Steve realized, his body was ravenous. “I probably should.”

Tony nodded again and scrambled to his feet. Steve followed, uneasy at there being even a slight distance between them, yet once they were both standing, he found himself hesitating, unsure of what the next appropriate contact would be.

Luckily Tony suffered from no such awkwardness, holding out his hand; Steve took it instantly, his heart humming at the contact, and he followed happily as Tony led him over to the table.

Busy demolishing sandwiches, it took Steve a while to catch on but eventually he saw Clint giving Tony some narrowed glances, muttering to Nat beside him. The heat of his fury took Steve's breath away; carefully, so Tony wouldn’t notice, Steve stared daggers at the archer. _Say a word, I dare you_ _…_

At Nat’s nudge, Clint looked over; his eyes widened, then narrowed. Grudgingly, he nodded, so Steve tried to let his fury go, but it was just… Tony was trying so hard to act like he was okay, laughing with Bruce and Rhodey over the latter’s awful sandwich tastes, but here and there his hands would shake, and there was still that brittle edge to his smiles. Steve would not stand to see him upset, but from the soft looks from the rest of the team, they seemed to agree that Tony was to be protected. Gradually, the impromptu meal felt less like the tail end of a funeral and more of a celebration, the group only growing more raucous as the food ran out.

The knock on the door almost went unnoticed. “Um, excuse me?” One of the nurses Steve had previously terrified poked his head around the door. “Sorry to interrupt, uh, Mr Stark? There’s somebody downstairs asking for you. Tiberius Stone?”

Steve dropped his cup, heedless of the splash of lukewarm coffee across the table because his eyes - _everyone_ _’s_ eyes - had automatically turned to Tony, just in time to see the dart of pure terror cross his face.

A second later, Steve had gathered Tony to his side, concealing him from view as best he could, even as the man began to shake in earnest, even as he knew it was too late.

“Nat,” he said, voice crisp with battlefield urgency. “Get rid of him.” She was staring at Tony, her face draining of color, but then the former assassin nodded sharply and left the room, whispering to the nurse as they went.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the shock on the others’ faces, their first awful glimmers of understanding. “It’s okay,” he murmured over and over into Tony’s hair. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

No one said a single word until Nat returned. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, Steve didn’t know, but when she came back, there was rage darkening her face. “He’s gone,” she announced.

At her words, Tony took a long, sobbing breath, crumpling in against Steve’s side. Thinking quickly, Steve swung the smaller man into his arms and returned to the far couches, the others following hesitantly.

Once Tony was settled, Steve dared to look around. Clint was still sitting at the deserted table, staring at the wall. Nat was pacing back and forth near the door, fists clenching, then releasing. Bruce was standing nearby with his eyes closed, muttering fervently. Sam and Bucky both stood back, upset but discreet. Rhodey-

_God._

Rhodey had collapsed onto the opposite couch, devastated, his head in his hands but watching Tony through his fingers, as if scared the other man would vanish the second he looked away.

The silence stretched, an endless void into which it seemed no one dared to speak.

Eventually, pressed against Steve’s chest, Tony sniffed, then looked up at Nat. “What did he say?” Despite his obvious effort, there was still fear in Tony’s voice; it seemed to break the last vestiges of denial in the room. Bruce sat down beside Rhodey, sudden as a puppet with its strings cut.

Nat crossed to the couch, kneeling before Tony and Steve. “He asked where you were, so I told him that you just left, that you went home. He seemed… excited. He asked if it was true that Steve had come back from the dead. Then he asked if you knew.”

“And what did _you_ say?” Tony demanded, his dark eyes glittering with desperation.

She studied him, her eyes gentle but relentless. “I said we had been trying to reach you, but no, you didn’t know yet.” Steve felt Tony exhale, sagging deeper against him. “He said he would meet you at home.” Nat grimaced. “He was… eager to be the one to tell you.”

“Okay,” Tony muttered, scrubbing at his face, “okay, yeah, that can work…” and he stood.

In sudden, sure horror, Steve surged forward to grab his hand. “Tony, you _cannot_ go to him-”

But the other man wouldn’t look at him. “I have to,” he whispered. “I have to, Steve, you don’t understand-”

“Then explain it to me,” Steve breathed, his eyes stinging at the defeat in Tony’s shoulders, the tremble in his voice. “I want to understand. Please, talk to me, Tony. Let me help you.”

“Or me,” Rhodey said; one by one, the others repeated the sentiment.

Steve kept his gaze steady on Tony’s face, looking up at him. “See, Tony? You’re not alone anymore. Please, just tell us how we can help.”

Tony stared back, oblivious to the tears descending in a slow hopeless slide down his face. “I don’t… I don’t _know_ ,” he whispered, his voice still painfully hoarse. “I’ve tried, but it doesn’t- I can’t think-”

Across the room, Clint slammed to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. The archer stalked towards Tony, his expression furious, stopping only when they were eye to eye.

“Step one, you come _home_ ,” he said. “You goddamn idiot.”

Then Clint was putting his arms around Tony, hugging him tight. And suddenly they all were, even Bucky attempting a careful pat on the man’s head, and Tony was crying but laughing and Steve thought his heart might burst from the growing hope that everything might be okay after all.

***

Upon their return to the Compound, it was agreed that Tony would send a cover message to Stone detailing how he’d left the hospital too soon, collapsed on the way home and was receiving emergency treatment at the Compound. Tony then spent the whole day in bed with Steve, each content just to hold the other close. This time the other man rested while Steve talked, racking his brain for stories from his childhood, both the good and the laughably bad.

That evening, the Avengers held a full council of war on Tony’s behalf. Although Steve offered to keep it discreet, Tony had requested that the whole team be brought in, that they treat it as a mission like any other. When everyone had gathered, Tony revealed how Stone had recorded a series of compromising videos of him early in their relationship, using them to blackmail Tony into staying. Everyone worked hard to keep it professional, but later they all agreed that Tony’s debrief had been one of the most painful situations they’d ever endured. Even Wanda had cried.

Their mission was to destroy all copies of the footage; only then could Tony end the relationship without repercussions. Stone kept his most valuable files on private servers locked in the basement of his mansion. This archive was the target of the primary team, but the media tycoon was both shrewd and resourceful. They had to assume there were further backups off-site. If they could get Friday in, the AI would hopefully identify the location of any backup servers; the secondary team would then head out and eliminate them. In the meantime, once Friday analyzed the original footage, she should be able to track and delete any copies off any online device, thus preventing Stone from retaliating.

The mission had two major obstacles. For one, Stone had only ever allowed Friday to be installed in Tony’s workshop in the mansion. Everywhere else in the house was wired separately, and therefore beyond the AI’s reach. Someone would have to infiltrate Stone’s expensive security and grant Friday access to the basement server directly; she would then need time to analyze the data before she could begin destroying the local files, so this would have to be accomplished without Stone noticing the intrusion.

Confidentiality was the second issue. If they made the mission official, they would have to file reports on every step as the Accords dictated. Yet without that official support, their actions would be considered legally dubious at best, criminal at worst. The irony was not lost on Steve that Tony was asking them to break the very rules he’d once argued for. Tony neither, it seemed; he kept emphasizing that the mission was volunteer only, no hard feelings for anyone who didn’t want to participate.

It came as no surprise to Steve when not a single person declined.

Tony, in contrast, seemed overwhelmed by the support, so Steve offered to take over logistics. Given the unofficial nature of their actions, they had to maintain the illusion of normality as far as possible, so Thor agreed that New Asgard would stage a celebratory feast on behalf of Earth’s great victory, starting immediately. By custom, such a feast lasted for days, and would both explain their absence from the Compound and give each of them a respectable alibi.

With their usual affectionate rivalry, Hope and Natasha immediately clashed over who could get into Stone’s basement first. Seeing no reason to pick a side, Steve assigned them both to the primary team, with Scott and Clint for backup. Vision shared some careful doubts regarding his current combat abilities, the Pym-miniaturized arc reactor in his head glowing a steady blue, but pairing him with Wanda was an easy solve. Steve placed the two on the secondary team with Sam and Rhodey to handle any secondary missions. Bruce would remain with Thor in Norway, overseeing the feast.

In a quiet but resolute voice, Tony announced he would be going to the mansion the next day to confront Stone. As a distraction, he said. Steve knew it meant far more than that, so he didn’t argue, despite Tony peering at him suspiciously. Steve waited until the meeting was over and they were alone, then quietly asked if he could come too.

After a long pause, Tony agreed.

Much later, back in bed, Tony confided in Steve that he was considering legal action against Stone, regardless of the public consequences it would bring.

Steve held him close, sending silent wishes to every star in the endless sky.

***

11:37, Wednesday 4th July 2018

Initially, Tony had planned to confront Ty alone.

When Steve offered to accompany him, his first reaction was a blast of panic. Ty lost it every time he was reminded of Steve’s existence. Bringing the other man into Ty’s _home_ …

 _So what?_ a deeper part of him whispered, tiny but defiant. _What can he do now?_

And so, gazing into Steve’s open blue eyes, Tony had agreed.

Yet despite the reassurance he should have felt, the exhaustion wrapping tendrils of weakness throughout his body, Tony hadn’t been able to sleep. He had watched the morning dawn bright and clear, Steve snoring neatly beside him. Feeling nothing, despite everything.

After a subdued breakfast, Steve’s official permission to leave the Compound - a ridiculous limitation Tony was going to _fix_ \- came through; the secondary team then departed for Norway, carrying a modified tracker that stated Steve Rogers was on board. Tony watched the Quinjet take off, then turned to Steve.

“I’m driving,” was all he said.

The journey upstate took nearly an hour, which they spent in silence. Tony focused on the road, the car, the passing details of the countryside. Only once did Steve speak, looking up from his phone.

“They’re in place,” he said.

Tony should have felt relief. He should have been glad. “Okay,” he said instead.

When they got to the large, gaudy gates, Tony stopped the car in his usual surveillance blind spot. Steve glanced over, his eyes full of unspoken sympathy.

“Before we go in there… There’s some stuff you should know,” Tony said. He wished he felt something, anything, but he was empty, and Steve was only looking at him like that because he didn’t _know_ -

“Okay,” Steve said.

Tony sighed. “For one, Ty hates you.”

The other man frowned. “I’m aware.”

“He hates you because of me,” Tony clarified. “Because I told him about Siberia. And after. He knows everything.”

He could see Steve didn’t understand. “That’s okay, Tony, I get it.”

“Ty found out I was using him to get back at you,” he said, full of self-loathing at the ugly truth. “It broke his heart. He threatened to leave, but I begged him to stay.”

Steve was watching him closely. “Was that before or after he started recording you?”

“Before, but-” The shame was a dull animal gnawing at his heart. “Okay, so about that, he’ll probably… You should know. Everything in the videos was my idea, Steve.” The other man’s flinch nearly ripped Tony apart, but he continued. “I asked Ty to help me forget you. Physical, chemical, whatever he thought up, I didn’t care. At first, anyway, and I didn’t know he was recording me, but…”

He glanced over at Steve; the other man was sitting frozen, his expression unreadable. Tony wrenched his gaze away. “I asked him to hurt me,” Tony said. “Things got fucked up, but that’s how it started. Better you know now.” His words hung in the air between them; Tony tried to focus on the blurring view out the window, the smooth leather of the steering wheel.

Steve cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something, Tony?” He sounded upset, but Tony didn’t dare look at him.

“Yeah, of course,” he answered.

“Are you afraid of him?”

For an endless moment, Tony struggled to comprehend such a question; a fish asked to define the sea. He concentrated again on the steering wheel beneath his hands, as if there was some clue buried there that could save him. “…yes.”

Steve leaned closer, his voice soft. “And did you ask for that, too?”

The pain pierced him, pure and dreadful and forever; he crumpled forward, dizzy, but Steve’s arms gathered him up, strong and kind and sure. Tony thought he should cry, but no tears came. Instead he lay huddled against Steve, unable to stop shaking, hearing the other man’s whispered reassurances as if from a vast distance.

He wasn’t empty anymore, he was-

This was-

It felt like hours before Tony was able to open his eyes again, but the clock on the dashboard claimed only minutes had passed. Steve was still holding him tight; the sensation filled him with a rising warmth that helped steady his trembling limbs. _Okay_ , he thought, stunned. _I_ _’m… okay._

Steve cleared his throat gently. “I can still go in alone,” he offered. “He hates me, it should be enough of a distraction.”

For a shameful moment Tony was seriously tempted by the idea, but he shook his head. “Ty wouldn’t let you in,” he said. “He would just broadcast the feed of you breaking into his house and wait for the cops. Considering you’re technically on a plane to Norway right now, that could get messy.” He took a deep breath, nerves jangling with reluctant fear. “No, it has to be me.”

Steve sighed, then pressed his lips to Tony’s hair. “I hate it, but I agree.”

“It’s just twenty minutes,” Tony said, trying to reassure himself more than anything. “Piece of cake.” He reached into his pocket for the phone. Usually he had Friday on hand to place calls for him, but today he needed the phone.

Just before the call connected, Tony grabbed for Steve’s hand. The other man squeezed back gently.

“Anthony?”

Tony forced himself to sound cheerful. _Distraction._ “Honey, I’m home! Can you open the gate?”

But Ty sounded annoyed. Tony must have woken him. “I wasn’t expecting you this early, Anthony. You should have called ahead.”

“My bad, babe,” Tony answered. “Medical discharged me late, everyone else had left for Norway already but I figured I’d come pick you up first.”

“Norway?” Ty asked in sharp interest. “You mean the Asgard celebration?”

“Yeah, Thor’s making it out to be the party of the century, I figured you might want to make an appearance.” Tony let his voice crack slightly, as if in sudden doubt. “I didn’t make any commitments, though. I know I’ve been away a lot lately, so if you want us to stay home, that’s fine too.” Fat chance; Tony knew the tycoon would never reject such an exclusive invitation.

Ty didn’t reply, but Tony could hear him breathing. “Party of the century,” the other man said eventually. “Yeah, right. More likely weak beer and a pig on a spit. Yet given the cause, I suppose we should at least show our faces.”

 _There it is._ Tony rolled his eyes. “Sounds good to me, babe.”

“But there’s no need to rush,” Ty said. “Word is the festivities will go on for days. And we also have something to celebrate.”

“We do?” Tony asked, genuine surprise coloring his voice.

“Ah, sweet Anthony, I’ve missed you,” Ty said, laughing, his voice dropping low. “Come upstairs, I’ll be waiting.”

With that, Ty hung up; Tony stared at the phone, foreboding twisting in his gut. _Celebrate what?_ Yet whatever Ty was planning, he realized, soon it wouldn’t be Tony’s problem. Soon, he would be… A giddy determination rose up through him; he turned to Steve. “I’m ready.”

Steve tapped at his own phone, then nodded. “Primary is a go.”

The gates slowly swung open, Tony sneaking through before they fully opened, just as he had a hundred times before. As he never had before. All those other times he’d been alone. He knew the car’s treated glass would shield Steve’s presence from Ty’s security systems right up until they got out of the car, but as the gloomy exterior of the mansion came into view, Tony felt queasily certain that the house itself knew what he was up to. And that it disapproved.

This place had never felt like home.

They pulled up before the front door, Tony squinting up at the blank, empty windows. Ty’s preference was to bus in his domestic staff obscenely early every morning just so they’d be gone before he woke in the afternoon; the tycoon resented all signs of life in his home that he did not expressly permit. Lunchtime was usually the busiest hour, but from the eerie silence, it looked like Ty had given everyone the day off. No witnesses, Tony thought. It made their mission simpler.

It brought a chill to his bones. 

Steve had also been examining the building. “Looks quiet.”

Tony took a deep breath, mentally checking his defenses. Phone, earpiece, nanite glove. Steve. “Let’s go.”

They got out of the car, Steve carefully securing his shield on his back, Tony’s nerves shrieking with awareness at every step. Ty would see… _now_. Ty would know…. _now_. Steve took point as they’d agreed, leading Tony up the steps and through the massive doors. Inside, the house was deathly silent, the walls seeming to shrink oddly at the edges of his vision.

At Steve’s questioning glance, Tony nodded towards the main staircase. “Fifth door on the right.”

As they climbed, every creak of the floorboards echoed through Tony like a gunshot. _Trap_ , he thought. _What if it_ _’ s all-_

Steve pushed open the door to Ty’s bedroom and stopped still, staring. Dizzy, Tony peeked past him and gasped.

All the furniture was gone except for the bed, the walls entirely replaced by giant screens that were playing videos of-

 _Oh fuck_ , Tony thought. _That_ _’s-_

He could easily pick out the six videos Ty had used to threaten him, but with a sickening lurch, Tony spotted at least a dozen more that he’d never seen before. All of him. Some with Ty. But some with _others_ _…_

A rising tide of horror was engulfing him, because on the screens there were faces Tony recognized, acquaintances from the countless parties he’d attended with Ty early on, the endless string of distractions he’d barely cared to remember. But there were other faces too, people he’d never met before, he was sure. And what they were _doing_ -

Tony bent over, retching. He felt Steve grab his shoulders, a grip too tight for calm. _Oh fuck, he saw, Steve saw-_

The shame would have sent him reeling, but Steve pulled him close; Tony was unable to resist burying his face against the other man’s comforting bulk, all the while wishing he could fly away, or disappear.

“What _is_ this?” he heard Steve demand, sounding outraged. Sounding _furious_.

 _I_ _’m sorry,_ Tony thought, _I_ _’m sorry, I’m-_

A cold voice answered. “Just a little trip down memory lane, Captain.”

Slowly, bitter realization clicked into place, and Tony forced himself to look up. Steve had placed his body between Tony and the relentless images and was now glaring over his head at the largest screen on the wall-

“Hello, Anthony,” Ty said, the usual cold smirk on his face. “Enjoying the show?”

Tony could only stare, wondering how he could ever have believed the other man looked _anything_ like Steve-

“Really, you should be honored,” Ty continued. “So many years of planning, so much thankless effort, but look. I’ve made you a star.”

Steve’s arms tightened around Tony. “You’re a monster,” he spat.

The media tycoon threw back his head and laughed, a grotesque sight on the giant screen. “No, my dear Captain, I’m a _visionary_. But don’t worry, when I’m done, the world won’t care to know _my_ name. They’ll be far too busy watching the legendary perversions of the infamous Tony Stark.”

Ty’s gaze narrowed on Tony’s face; Tony’s stomach lurched as if he was physically in the room. “Oh, my sweet, foolish Anthony. Did you really think the truth wouldn’t come out? Hospitals aren’t secure, you know that. Even I can’t sit on this story forever. People are already whispering about your conspicuous failure to fight for Earth. About what a horrendous disappointment you turned out to be. Imagine what they’ll say when they see all of this…” He gestured wide to the screens around the room, still displaying their unspeakable horrors.

“Stop it,” Steve snarled; he was shaking, Tony could feel it. “Why would you do this?”

“Why?” Ty asked; his face instantly darkened with rage. “Ask _him_ why. I would have given him _everything,_ but he just _used_ me. It’s what he does, Captain, you know that. He took your heart and smashed it, just because he could.” There was something broken in his laugh. Something dangerous. “How much time did you waste hating yourself when you should have been hating _him_?”

“ _Nothing_ you say could justify what you’ve done,” Steve said, his voice breaking.

Ty sneered, his usual cold smirk slipping back in place. “Anthony needed to be taught a lesson,” he said. “Would you like to see our lessons, Captain?”

And the screens changed, now showing-

_Oh, god._

“Contrary to the legend, it turns out sweet Anthony is _not_ a quick learner,” Ty drawled; an avalanche of humiliation slammed into Tony, memories of long hours spent in front of the mirror, Ty endlessly scrutinizing his every expression, correcting his face, his words, his gestures.

At first, the tycoon had called it ‘media training’. Tony preferred to call it ridiculous, but he soon found that the better he complied, the more time Ty would allow him in the workshop alone; after a while it was easier not to resist. Yet as the months went on, the sessions got longer and more exhausting, Ty claiming the increased media scrutiny after he announced their wedding meant Tony had to work even harder. The tycoon would tear apart every public appearance he made, confront him with every paparazzi shot, spend hours hunting for a moment where Tony was not performing his role of devoted fiancé to perfection. Given Ty’s swarm of tabloid locusts would follow him every time he left the mansion and the prospect of further ‘training’ on his return, Tony’s math had begun to swing in favor of just staying home.

And it seemed Ty had been recording every second of their sessions. One screen showed Tony kissing Ty on the cheek, over and over. On another, he was rehearsing lines, frowning in concentration. But none of the videos showed Ty giving him orders, he noticed. If the other man appeared at all, it was only as a passive recipient to Tony’s compulsive efforts. As if _Tony_ were the one controlling _him_.

Deep within his chest, the tiniest glimmer of anger stirred. Tony glared up at the central screen, stepping away from Steve.

“You planned this,” he said accusingly, but he already knew.

“From that very first day in Hawaii,” Ty said, cruel and smug. “Two years ago exactly, which makes this our anniversary, I suppose.” He laughed. “Kudos where it’s due for all that noble suffering. You lasted so much longer than I expected.”

The confirmation dislodged something within Tony, his rage now a steady inferno, snatching the opportunity to burst free. “Funny you should say that,” he snarled. “I seem to recall plenty of suffering when you were sobbing that I broke your heart.”

Ty’s smirk disappeared. “Don’t flatter yourself. Maybe I lost sight of my objective for a moment, but you and I both know what you are. Spoiled. Selfish. Defective. Who could _possibly_ love you?”

It was nothing Tony hadn’t thought before, so he was able to ignore the initial sting, accepting the real hurt would come later.

But behind him, Steve had cleared his throat. “Um, hi.” Tony swung around. Steve was gazing at him, somehow smiling despite everything. “I believe the phrase is, I volunteer as tribute,” the other man said softly, then frowned. “Or, is it tribble? I can’t remember.”

 _Oh god, he’s perfect,_ Tony thought, a sudden blast of golden joy enveloping him. “Did you just confuse Katniss and Captain _Kirk_ -”

“Well, I couldn’t tell Clint I fell asleep on his favorite movie, so I hid in the bathroom looking for a recap and there was a YouTube channel with these furry things-”

“-you’re telling me Captain America watches _TribbleTrax?!_ ” The idea was so stupid, so _absurd_ ; Tony couldn’t stop grinning.

Steve was smiling right back, his blue eyes sparkling with warmth and love and humor. “I mean, they are kinda cute-”

 _“Enough!”_ Ty screamed in fury, looming closer to the camera as if he could burst through the screen. “This is my _home_ , you will _not_ ignore me!”

Out of reflex, Tony flinched back; Steve slowly turned his head, narrowing his eyes on the tycoon’s face. “Be careful what you wish for, Stone,” Steve said, ice in his voice. “You may find my full attention uncomfortable.”

Unaccountably, Ty laughed. “Sadly, Captain, your reputation precedes you. Your threats are as empty as your propaganda. America’s own ubermensch, born under the fireworks on Independence Day itself.” He paused. “Why, that makes today your birthday, does it not?”

Tony tensed; the satisfied note in Ty’s voice usually meant he had a _plan_ -

The central screen went blank, followed by every other screen in the room. “Behold, Captain, my gift for you,” Ty’s voice boomed. “May all the world see your _love_ for the great _Tony Stark_.”

The thing was, it could always get worse, with Ty. And Tony knew that. He should have been _prepared_ -

A video began to play, the same one on every screen.

Steve jerked away as if burnt. “What is this…?”

Tony watched the super-soldier look around, misery threatening to sink him right through the floor. He didn’t need to look at the screens. There had been so many videos he didn’t remember.

This one, he remembered.

“Who _is_ that?” Steve demanded, turning to him. Pleading. “Tony…”

And right on cue, Ty switched on the audio. “… stop it, Steve, _Steve_ , you’re hurting me, _please_ -”

His recorded voice went on begging, but Tony had blocked out the sound, consumed with the sight of Steve staggering backwards, away from the screens, away from Tony-

“I don’t understand,” the super-soldier whispered, “I don’t-”

“Pretty good, right?” Ty’s voice purred over the speakers. “The surgeries were very expensive, but what a result. He looks _just_ like you.”

Steve looked as though he might throw up. Tony could only watch. Yet the other man rallied and stepped towards Tony, holding a cautious hand out to him as though he were a wild animal. “Tony, I don't… you thought it was me?”

“Huh?” Tony said, confused, then appalled. “No, Steve, _god_ no-”

“You misunderstand, dear Captain,” Ty interrupted smugly. “Your name is his safeword.”

The super-soldier blinked. “His… what?”

“The word you say when you want the other person to stop,” Ty said.

Steve’s eyes flicked to the screens behind Tony, where his double was most definitely not stopping; as his gaze slowly slid back towards him, Tony watched the horror unfold on Steve’s face.

Watched him understand.

“Anthony chose it himself,” Ty said. “And believe me, I tried _everything_ to get him to use it. Ironically, most of the time I couldn't get him to shut the hell up, but this one little word he kept on refusing to say. It was entertaining, if ultimately pointless. As you can see, I broke him eventually.” He paused. “Truly my finest work.”

And in a twisted, hollow way, Tony could almost agree. The camera had been so carefully angled, the footage so flawlessly edited, that the video had almost fooled _Tony_ for a second. He himself had been blindfolded during the ordeal; Ty had ordered Steve’s double not to speak, then bathed the other man in his own cologne to fool Tony’s senses. The tycoon must have also slipped him something heavier than usual, because Tony’s memory had been confused upon waking, fragments jumbled into each other. But he remembered screaming his safeword. He remembered Ty’s eerie silence. And the pain.

Tony had woken up furious, ready to rip Ty apart, but the tycoon had been too well prepared, his ambush too cunning.

Since that day, Tony had replayed the video a thousand times in his head, but to no avail. Ty had included every possible detail of Steve’s appearance, right down to the parole device the double wore on his left ankle; Ty knew Steve would be whisked off to the Raft the second he was accused of putting a toe over the line. In turn, Tony knew Ross would pounce on the opportunity to acquire more of the serum, probably over Steve’s dead body.

And even if Tony _could_ prove it wasn’t Steve in the video, there was still the safeword to explain. On the worst days, he had imagined he could handle the fallout of destroying Iron Man’s reputation, but Tony had run the math; he _knew_ Earth couldn’t afford the hit if he took Captain America down with him.

Seeing the devastation in Steve’s eyes, Tony realized how incomplete his math had been.

“You were protecting me,” the super-soldier said, his voice dull. “This whole time, that’s why you didn’t… that’s why you stayed.”

By now Tony had lost track of how much of the truth it was safe to tell; too dazed to reach for a lie, he just nodded.

The confirmation seemed to upset Steve even more. Over the speakers, Ty began bragging again but they both ignored him, Steve staring at Tony with blank eyes, as if at a stranger. Tony closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight, wishing he could disappear under the weight of his thoughtless mistakes, his stupid, selfish choices…

A low ping in Tony’s ear nearly made him leap out of his skin. “Analysis complete, boss,” Friday said. Of course, the mission.

…the mission.

He’d _forgotten_.

Dizzy with unexpected relief, Tony opened his eyes to find Steve poised in full combat readiness. “Location, Friday?” the other man demanded, sudden ice in his voice-

 _Oh, shit,_ Tony thought-

“Third floor, last door on the left,” the AI provided.

-and Steve was _gone_ , running out the door and back towards the stairs.

Still off-balance, it took Tony a moment to comprehend where Steve was going, but as the realization hit, he followed with terrified haste, arriving just as Steve finished smashing through the steel door to reveal a terrified-looking Ty-

“No, don’t-” Tony grabbed his arm but the other man brushed him off, instead striding towards a babbling Ty with his shield raised for a killing blow-

“Steve, please, _stop_ ,” Tony begged, his voice cracking, barely loud enough for his own ears to register.

Yet he was heard.

Steve froze in place, dropping his shield to the ground; he turned to face Tony, his hands outstretched in surrender, in apology.

But Tony’s whole body was still trembling, his mind still trapped in a thousand universes where Steve hadn’t listened, had murdered Ty and become a killer all because of him, all because of Tony’s stupid selfish pathetic-

“Hey,” Steve was saying, suddenly close enough to touch, “Tony, are you okay?”

Without speaking, Tony surged forward, pouring himself into Steve’s warm embrace. As the other man held him tight, Tony’s mind slowly returned towards calm, towards reason.

… _Steve_ , he thought. _Steve would never_ _…_

When his breathing had settled, Tony pulled back slightly; Steve gazed down at him, patient and sure.

“Option A, we just walk away,” the other man told him. “But it’s your call, Tony.”

Tony frowned. “What’s option B?”

Steve’s eyes had turned a stormy blue. _Beautiful_. “He and I have a conversation first.”

Huddled against the wall, Ty moaned softly. When Tony glanced over, the man was holding his arm at an odd angle; he must have injured himself in his earlier scramble to escape.

“One second.” Tony kissed Steve on the cheek, then turned to confront Ty, his fists clenching tighter at every step. The normally pristine man had been reduced to a trembling mess, but of course, his ego forced him to his feet at Tony’s approach.

Tony studied the man, any fear he held paling in comparison to his growing contempt. _Nothing like Steve at all._ He took out his phone, turning it up so the tycoon could also hear. “You with me, Friday?”

“Always, boss,” the AI said softly. “May I proceed to stage two?”

Tony grinned. “Have at it.”

Ty was staring at him, his face a frothing mix of fear and suspicion and outrage. “In case it wasn’t clear,” Tony told him softly. “You can’t control me anymore. Right now, my AI is shredding every scrap of blackmail material you possess. And not just on me, but on _anyone_.”

As the tycoon’s face dropped, Tony smiled. “Of course, losing your little safety blanket leaves you rather exposed, doesn’t it? Plenty of sharks will be circling.” He let his voice cool to ice. “Once word gets out, that is.”

Ty scowled, his expression dark as thunder, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “If you have demands, name them.”

“First, you leave,” Tony said. “The house, the state, preferably the continent.”

“Fine,” Ty snapped. “America is boring anyway.”

“Second,” Tony continued, “when I announce the wedding is off, you will publicly confirm it was a mutual decision, then have your jackals bury the story.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” the tycoon said, attempting a sneer. “What else? 

“After today, you will never, ever touch me again,” Tony told him. Just as Ty opened his mouth to point out the obvious, Tony sucker-punched him in the nose; the tycoon went down, hard.

“Happy anniversary, _babe_.” Tony knew it was small as gestures went, almost insignificant, but walking away, he felt exhilarated. Plus, he caught Steve trying to hide a proud smile, so clearly they were destined to be petty bastards together. “All yours, Cap,” he said with an answering grin.

The other man turned his gaze towards the tycoon; the shift in his expression made Tony shiver, just a little.

Steve slowly approached the groaning man, now bleeding heavily from his broken nose. “Hi,” he said softly, then reached down and grabbed Ty by his injured arm, hauling the tycoon effortlessly to his feet.

Ty squealed in pain, then sagged against the wall, only Steve’s firm grip on his arm keeping him upright. “I also wanted to make something _absolutely_ clear,” the super-soldier whispered. “You and I both know you are a sniveling coward who will say anything to save his own neck, but eventually, you will find yourself thinking back on this moment as if it’s in the past, and you may start to think of revenge.”

Steve’s grip must have tightened because Ty moaned again. “I need you to understand what will happen to you if you make a move against Tony, or his company, or anyone connected to him. It won’t happen straight away. You might spend days thinking you have succeeded, believing you are safe. You will be wrong. No matter how well you plan, no matter who you buy, it will never be enough. There will come a day that feels just like all the others, right up until you find yourself on the floor, screaming. And despite all your riches, all your cleverness, there will be no one around to find you. Instead you’ll die alone, in agony. We’ll make sure of it.”

“We?” Ty gasped.

Steve bared his teeth, nodding towards Ty’s chest. “Check your pocket.”

As Tony watched in amazement, the tycoon reached into his shirt, removing with trembling fingers a small card with a printed spider on the back. “How did- Are you _threatening_ me?” Ty said, having the nerve to sound genuinely appalled. “But you’re _Captain America_ , you would never-”

There was a sickening crack; the tycoon broke off, gagging.

“Wouldn’t I?” Steve whispered, his voice like death itself.

Then, with a shrug, he released his grip on the tycoon’s freshly broken arm and stepped aside; Ty fled the room without so much as a glance at Tony. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, then Steve swung around, uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know, do you think he bought it?”

“Did he…?” With effort, Tony managed to close his hanging jaw. “I think _I_ bought it.”

“Shit, sorry,” Steve said, his expression instantly rueful; Tony could have kissed him.

“No, it’s fine, I just…” He shook his head. “I definitely think you scared the shit out of him, if that was the plan.”

Steve looked shyly pleased. “Yeah, Nat came up with it as a fallback, just in case Friday couldn’t find all the copies. Honestly I didn’t think I could pull it off until I saw…” He trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Until you saw the videos,” Tony finished for him, unwilling to hide from the truth anymore.

“Until I saw how badly he was treating you,” Steve countered, all in a rush. “Tony, I know you said those videos were your idea, but-”

“Not all of them,” Tony admitted. He thought for a moment. “Not even most of them, really.” It was difficult to think about those videos as real when he had no memory attached. Technically, thanks to Ty’s chemical interventions, he hadn’t even been _conscious_ ; Tony knew he should be having all kinds of feelings about that, but he had no idea what was appropriate anymore.

Steve’s jaw was visibly clenched. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

Something about him asking made Tony want to cry. Instead, he just stepped towards the other man, who gathered him close, gentle and sure.

Tony closed his eyes, still floored by the unfamiliar sensation of comfort, of warm, dizzying peace. He would give anything to keep this, he realized. Risk anything, pay anything. He tried to calculate the odds that Steve could feel even halfway as strongly, but then the other man sighed, hot breath tickling his hair so that Tony felt a thrill of lust throughout his whole body. It was so distracting he forgot how to math.

But Steve was already pulling back. “We should get going,” he murmured. Responsibility was a _curse_.

“One last thing,” Tony told him.

As requested, Steve helped Tony smash every screen in his former bedroom, until there were no shards left big enough to see his reflection. Then the other man stood guard by the door as Tony turned his attentions to the bed. By the time he was done, the adrenaline had long since faded, leaving Tony shaking with exhaustion.

He powered down his gauntlet and looked around. “Steve?” he asked. The other man turned towards him, blond and tall and powerful.

 _Beautiful_ , Tony thought. “Let’s go home.”

Outside, their car was untouched, save for the two assassins now adorning the bonnet. “All good?” Clint drawled, eyeing them both carefully.

Tony grinned, unable- no, _unwilling_ \- to hide his satisfaction. “All great,” he answered, then looked to Natasha. “Nice trick with the card,” he told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “What card?” But she hugged them both so tight it could have been attempted murder.

“Uh,” Steve said, peering over her shoulder. “What happened here?” Tony followed his gaze towards the car, where a dozen arrows were buried several inches into the ground.

“His Shittiness tried to steal your car,” Clint informed them, then shrugged. “I made him dance.” The archer looked the very picture of nonchalance, but when Tony hugged him, he blushed.

Another ping from Friday brought them all to attention. “Boss, stage two is complete. All files have been eliminated. And according to the system logs, no other copies were ever made.”

 _Unbelievable._ Tony could have laughed. _That stupid arrogant son of a_ _…_ Instead he took a deep, cleansing breath, then another, feeling the sweet truth settle into him, head to toe. It was done. Steve was beaming at him, radiating pride and love and joy. It was over.

_I'm free._

Ignoring Steve and the assassins’ quizzical gaze, Tony pulled out his phone, quick fingers popping the case. “Great job, Fri,” he said. “Now get your ass clear.” Tony connected the hidden component and turned the phone back over, waiting for Friday’s confirmation she’d removed all traces of herself from the building’s network. Only then did he enter the command.

The phone erupted in white sparks, but he’d already let it fall to the ground; from deep inside the mansion there was a strange, electrical sizzling.

“The hell was that?” Clint blurted out.

Tony smirked. “Modified EMP I’ve been working on. Kinda of a bitch to get right without the circuits catching fire.” He glanced over to where there was already smoke pouring from one of the basement vents. “Oops.”

As the mansion began to burn in earnest, the two assassins made their exit, promising to meet them back at the Compound. Keenly aware of his own exhaustion, Tony called shotgun for the ride home. As Steve drove off, Tony turned for one last glimpse, seeing the first lick of flames erupt along the roof.

“Nice backup plan,” Steve commented, sounding amused.

Tony smirked right back at him. “Yours was fun too.”

Steve’s laugh made his nose crinkle. “Eh. Call it a draw?”

 _I love him_ , Tony thought, dazed with a sudden rush of certainty. _I_ _’m free, and it’s over, and I love him._

Almost, he opened his mouth to tell Steve right away, but then he closed it again. _Not here_ , he decided. _Not yet._

He watched the gates fly by for the final time. As the car raced along the winding roads, Tony rolled down the windows, breathing in the fresh air, the freedom, the way the summer sun turned Steve's hair into a golden halo against the deep blue sky. In sudden impulse, he reached out and switched on the radio, humming along to the first song he heard; ‘ _no promises, no demands_ _…_ ’

The lyrics made Tony smile; leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder, he relaxed into a sweet, wandering happiness, imagining with a soft thrill the _exact_ look that would appear on Steve's face when Tony told him that he loved him-

And there was more to look forward to, Tony realized, so much more than he knew how to believe, but whatever problems that came their way, whatever their mistakes and fears and doubts, he and Steve could tackle them together. In their shared future, there would be hard days and heartaches and long, difficult conversations, but he also knew there would be no hidden debt to fear, no cost to silently reckon. 

Just him and Steve, reaching for each other across the endless minutes.

Finding their way home.

* * *

[Illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019_Cap_Ironman_Big_Bang/works/21607990) by march_hyde

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts/ critique welcome :)


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